


Just A Game?

by freckleslikeconstellations



Category: Sherlock (TV), Strictly Come Dancing RPF
Genre: AU, Age-gap Relationship, Angst, Blackpool - Freeform, Control, Dancing, Dealing with inner demons, Drama, F/M, Family, Fun, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, Lack of Free Will, London, Mind Games, Multi, Mycroft has a fish, Mycroft is Ice, Mycroft is a West End Director, Reader has a cat, Reader is fire, Reader's day job is a choreographer, Sexual References, Strong Language, Threats, Trust Issues, all the Strictly glamour, friendships, physical violence, power, press interference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-08 02:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 98,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8827696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckleslikeconstellations/pseuds/freckleslikeconstellations
Summary: You become a judge on 'Strictly Come Dancing.' But when you learn about how much game-playing goes on behind the scenes will you be able to keep your job and learn who you can trust or crumble under everything that's about to unfold?





	1. Getting The Job

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, thanks as ever for all your support! :D 
> 
> The title of this fic comes from the song 'Just A Game,' by Birdy, which suits the feel of this fic quite well. 
> 
> Just a short chapter to start us off, but I hope you enjoy it. :)

It’s a grey Thursday at the end of August and you find yourself in the open-plan kitchen in your brown and white terraced house. You’re thirty and you’ve been living there with your brown and black cat Midnight for just over four years now thanks to your job as a film choreographer, which had enabled you to have enough money to buy it in its central London location. Although there’s always people walking past and noises coming from next door the house with its two floors has always felt like a safe, secret haven to you. A part of the city that is exclusively yours and which you can do as you want with. The kitchen is no different. With its black counters and appliances, marble island and smooth clear floor it might look like a regular, ordinary kitchen, but you’ve made that your own too. To the right as you enter the room is a modest glass cabinet, which holds the awards that you’ve managed to accumulate from your work, whilst framed black and white blown up photos of happy memories and your time on different sets lay around the white walls, their orderly chain only broken by the circular black framed clock, which lies over one of the counters. Two toy dogs that wear a tux and a white dress reminiscent of a newly married couple and whose paws have been stitched together to make it look as if they’re standing side by side and about to go out on to the dance floor peek around the herb bottles that sit in a rack next to the microwave. They’d been given to you as a gift once filming had come to an end by the film crew of _‘I Know It’s Not Me,’_ which had been one of the first films that you’d done. Today however, and not for the first time, an imposter has made its way into your largely happy home. An imposter that’s called anxiety as you wait for a phone call. 

 

You hate waiting for phone calls. But this one, this one’s the worst. Worse than any other work ones you’ve waited for in the past. Worse even than waiting for a guy to call. You haven’t got to be anywhere with your work today, which is a relief in one sense as you get the feeling that you wouldn't have been able to concentrate even if you had. It’s an agony in another though as it sees you alternating between pacing around, drumming your black painted finger nails on the kitchen island and drinking tea, which you have to keep constantly re-making because you keep letting it go cold. Your silver laptop hums in the background as it sits on the island. Every time you hear the ping of a new e-mail hitting your inbox, which you’ve got open you go across and check it. Each time it turns out to be not what you’re waiting for. They said that they’d ring though you remind yourself when such a thing has happened once more, but _still…_

 

Getting impatient you turn your back on your laptop, move forwards and run your hands down the side of your casual black top and the sides of your rough denim jeans. Your clothes make a rustling noise, whilst your h/c ponytail bobs, trying to break free from its blue bindings. You let out a bit of a breath. Every second brings about a painful thrumming beneath your skin. You’d barely gotten any sleep last night, rolling around and kicking out at your white duvet as if you’d suddenly turned into a woman who’s competent in the martial arts. But when you’d finally sunk into Morpheus’s grasp you’d found yourself dreaming the same dream that you’d had continuously as a child. A dream, which held flames and the lingering memory of your father who’d divorced your mother when you’d been just four-years-old. You hadn’t dreamt it for a long time and it had made you feel discomfited. Then this morning you’d woken in a groggy state of moodiness and eaten precious little, simply snacking on a banana and some nuts, whilst Midnight had prowled around you, before you’d taken up the restless state that you’ve barely detracted from all these hours later when it is now twenty-minutes past two. Perhaps it won’t be today you think, your head swinging back and forth in restless irritation, or perhaps they won’t let you know if you haven’t got it even though they’d said that they would. 

 

You’re just thinking again that you wish you could share this with someone-more particularly your mum-and how you find the fact that you can’t talk to anyone about it due to the hush, hush of the situation the most aggravating thing of all when your mobile rings. Its jaunty, bouncy ringtone sounds harsh in the stillness of the kitchen and you jump, before you rush to where you’ve left it upon the left side of the kitchen island. It’s the number. The one that you’ve been waiting for. Your hands curl close to it, but don’t quite touch it as if it’s a baby that’s started crying and you don’t know what to do with it. Your mind breaks down from a sentence of thought into mere words into nothing but a crackling panic like a badly tuned TV. Your ringtone cries out insistently however and finally you scramble to pick up the device with clumsy, shaking hands. 

 

“Hello?” you answer, your voice coming out unusually loudly and you hope that your agent Lysandra at the other end doesn’t think that you’re yelling at her. 

 

Used to the panic that you stir yourself into at these times by now however and knowing that you just need to know whether you’ve gotten the job or not, curvy and blonde Lysandra who’s twisting the phone line around her arm at the other end and whose been your good friend as well as your agent since you started this game, simply says, “You better get your paddle ready”-

 

 _“No,”_ your eyes go wide and your free hand comes up to the side of your mouth, your fingers clawing at your cheek. “No way”- 

 

 _“Yes!”_ Lysandra squeals, knowing how excited you’re going to be when this news finally sinks in. 

 

“Oh my God,” you breathe, lowering the phone and disconnecting the call absent-mindedly without another word as you begin to take in the fact that you, F/N L/N, film choreographer and occasional award winner, are going to be the new judge on _‘Strictly Come Dancing.’_

 

The information seeps in slowly to your brain as your phone touches back down on the counter, before what you’ve just been told hits you in a rush. It sends ripples of energy throughout your entire body. You do a little excited jog on the spot as you turn in a circle, whilst your hands flap and you’ve just let out a cry of excitement that is very different to the professional and orderly woman that you try to be when your phone goes off again. The weight that you’ve felt all day up until this point of initial release falls on you as you worry that this is Lysandra ringing you back to tell you forlornly that no, sorry, she’s been mistaken. When you glance at the screen though you see that it’s an unrecognisable number and you pick it up tentatively. 

 

“Hello?” you ask. 

 

“F/N?” comes a warm Italian accented voice that is instantly recognizable to you and sparks erupt inside your stomach because is this really happening?

 

“Mr. Tonioli”- you say, your words full of apprehension. 

 

“It is so good to hear your voice my darling. I was so excited when they told me that you’d gotten the job,” Bruno, one of the other judges, goes on as if he’s got no idea of the effect he’s just had on you. 

 

“You’re not the only one,” you say, the breathless excitement still evident in your tone. 

 

Bruno lets out a bit of a laugh; apparently he’s getting a better idea of how fresh and exciting all this is for you now. “I can’t wait for us to be working together,” he says effusively. 

 

“Me either,” you say, your voice full of honesty, and when you come off your phone a moment later, after Bruno’s just said how much fun you’re going to have, you lower it feeling shell-shocked. You've just found out that you’re going to be a judge on _‘Strictly Come Dancing’_ and now Bruno Tonioli’s just called you! Could things get any better?

 

You think that you’re just about to find the answer to that question when your phone rings again. “Hello?” you say, your heart only working on every other beat and you’re pretty sure that it’s about to give up on you completely when you hear a familiar gentlemanly voice saying, “F/N?” _Len Goodman._ Oh my God! Len Goodman just said your name! You try and contain your inner fan girl heart with a flap of your free hand. Try not to picture him in his judges seat holding a seven and going on about pickling his walnuts. You've watched him on TV for years. You've watched _both_ him and Bruno, and now in the space of a few minutes you’ve had a phone call from them and it’s as if they’re both inviting you into this world. 

 

“Mr. Goodman,” you breathe, “It’s such an honour to think that I’ll be working with you.” Your voice still sounds breathless and you hope that you’re not coming off as too much of an excited fan-it’s rare for you to get this star struck, and even if you do then usually you’re able to contain it a lot better-you hope that Len will understand that this is just the moment overwhelming you a little and that you’ll be a more than capable judge to his head one. When there’s a short pause though your nerves fill it with, “I assure you that I take dance very seriously. My work may be on modern films but I have a great respect for traditional dance styles. In fact”-

 

“F/N, F/N, I know,” Len says, and you can almost see him waving a hand and scrunching his eyes up. You let out a bit of a breath, still feeling tense. “You would not have won all the awards that you have otherwise,” he tells you. You let out another breath and look towards the clear cabinet, taking in the prizes that you’ve accumulated over the years. You feel suddenly stupid. You keep forgetting that you’re not that little girl who’s just starting out in her career any more. You _have_ actually done things and built up enough of a reputation in the industry to start feeling more secure about yourself and yet part of you still feels like that dreaming young person inside. You think of your father again. “The black and white sequence that you did in, _‘I Know It’s Not Me,’_ was a particular favourite of mine,” Len says, distracting you from your thought. 

 

“Oh thank you Sir-Len,” you quickly correct yourself, focusing on the present once more. _‘I Know It’s Not Me,’_ as well as being one of the earliest films that you’d worked on had also been one of the most challenging. The creative team behind it had been new and unknown. The story had been a sweet, but meaningful one about this struggling romantic pair of Chinese dancers who’d just moved to England. It had been a surprise hit six years ago. It still holds the fondest of places in your heart and you feel more than flattered to have Len Goodman-ballroom extraordinaire-of all people complementing your work. 

 

Len lets out a little chuckle at the way you’d just altered your words. “It’s a pleasure to think that I’ll be working alongside you too F/N,” he says in a chivalrous manner. 

 

You come off the phone to him a moment later and lower it to the kitchen island as adrenalin pumps through your body. As you lean against the side of it you let out a little laugh of disbelief, your mind wondering suddenly if you’re going to get a call from the judge you’re yet to hear from-a Mr. Mycroft Holmes-to complete the set. 

 

As time passes though it soon becomes evident that you’re not, and though it’s not as if you mind-you’re so happy after all-the more that you think about it the more you feel like it would have been nice to hear from him out of courtesy and to break the ice if nothing else. You’re not sure how Bruno and Len had gotten your number-you’ve long since stopped asking how people in the industry get such a thing-but you’re pretty sure that Mycroft could have got it without much hassle too. You don’t know how Mycroft’s lip had curled up distastefully when he’d gotten the call about your new role. However you are aware that famous West End director Mycroft Holmes who’s forty-two and whose known for his stern demeanour on the show, so much so that he’s been given the nickname the Iceman, with his actor parents-who are renowned for their theatre work-and who has made no secret about the fact that he disapproves that his younger brother Sherlock has amounted to no more than a camera operator, probably thinks himself too important to congratulate you or even introduce himself. It makes something inside you bristle.

 

“He should try and remember that he’s only been a judge on that show two years himself,” you mutter, recalling how he’d replaced Craig Revel Horwood like you’re now replacing Darcey Bussell as Midnight pads in, jumps up on the kitchen island in front of you and gives you a purr of agreement. You stroke at his fur and he arches his back up to meet your hand. 

 

Truthfully though after all the good stuff that’s happened that day you can’t stay too mad with Mycroft and you go to bed that night feeling much happier than you’d done on the one before. 

 

*

 

The fact that you’re joining the show is officially announced that Saturday and that’s when things really kick off. You get hundreds of new people following you on Twitter-your account up until now has been a mostly obscure one where only friends, family and people you’ve worked with previously in the industry have been keeping an eye on you-and you suddenly realize that you’re going to have to start posting more interesting things than stuff to promote your work and what Midnight’s been up to. You get what feels like a million messages of congratulations between all the messages from there, the e-mails, calls and texts. But the best one of all has to come from your mum. 

 

“Oh my God,” she says on the phone and a grin instantly springs up on your face, “I don’t know how you kept _that_ from me!” 

 

“Yeah sorry Mum,” you shift your position, your free hand dropping from the chopsticks that you’d been eating your Chinese with as you sit on a black and silver stool by the kitchen island. You _do_ genuinely feel guilty. Your mum’s such a big Strictly fan and you’d wanted to tell her most of all. 

 

“It’s all right sweetheart, it’s just-my God-I couldn't believe it when your Auntie Val rang earlier and asked if I’d seen the news. I’d been in town this morning to do my shopping, so I was away from everything and then when she said that I switched on the TV and your face was there! I nearly fainted at first because I thought something terrible had happened”-your heart clenches. You don’t like the idea that she’d been worried about you-“And then I nearly fainted because of what _had_ happened.” You grin proudly. “I just can’t believe it! My baby, on Strictly, on the show we've both watched for years, and not only that but judging, _judging!”_

 

“I know,” you smile, “I can’t believe it either. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, they swore me to secrecy. I had to go in and sign my contract yesterday and get my pass sorted out and everything.” You pause and think about it all for a moment. “Hey, you’ll never guess who rang me up just after I got the news,” you say. 

 

“Oh my, don’t”-

 

“Bruno Tonioli and Len Goodman!” Your mother lets out an excited squeal and you chuckle. “I couldn't believe it. They were so lovely.” 

 

Your mind drifts to Mycroft now who hasn’t appeared to be anything close to lovely so far with his silence, but before you can dwell on him too much your mum breathes, “Oh gosh, it’s so exciting! I expect that you’ll tell me everything from now on, all the behind the scenes gossip and how everything’s done.”

 

“Sure Mum,” you say dryly, knowing that even _she_ knows that you won’t be able to tell her _everything._

 

“What’s the next thing that you’ll have to do then?” she asks. 

 

“Well,” you hesitate, brushing back your hair consideringly from where its across your shoulders today in a boho-braid, “I’ll be going in on Monday to do a photo shoot with the other judges.” Once more your mind goes to the mysterious and pompous seeming Mycroft. “Then the line-up of celebrities is going to be announced in full on Tuesday. There’s also the press launch and the filming for the launch show that will be shown a week on Saturday. Not much will happen after that until the competition itself properly gets under way.” Still, your stomach tingles with excitement at just the thought of all those things. 

 

Your mother lets out a bit of an animated sound, before she says, “Right,” heavily as if she’s trying to compose herself, “I’ll leave you to get on with things then F/N. I know that you must have so many other people to talk to”-

 

 _“Mum,”_ you blush. Your mum always seems to hope that you’ve got a secret life full of cocktails and friends just because you work in the film industry. But although you _do_ know a lot of people and you _have_ got a black book of contacts, you know them like people who once knew each other give a nod to one another in the street. You don’t know anyone intimately. In fact you lead a very solitary private life. It’s just Midnight and you. There’s been the occasional man yes, but no one who’s stuck around enough to become a permanent fixture. 

 

“Oh F/N,” Mum says, sounding a little annoyed with you for making her worry again, “I’m sure there are plenty of other people you have to talk to,” and again you sense the possible hope that’s there about your life. That it’s so exciting and that you’re so happy. 

 

“There’s no one more important than you Mum,” you say, which makes her laugh rather than dare face up to the fact that your words are perfectly true ones. Still, you prefer it this way. That’s what you tell yourself. Then, in order to get rid of any lingering awkwardness that’s between you, you start humming the Strictly theme tune. That gets your mum laughing and joining in, before you finally disconnect the call. 

 

Your Chinese has gone cold by then and you go to bed that night feeling fulfilled and excited about what’s to come in your career, but personally wishing for more in your private life. It would be so nice sometimes to be able to have someone there, in front of you, to talk to and to curl up with at night who wasn’t Midnight, as lovely as Midnight is. As if he knows such a thing the wretched cat stretches from where he’s splayed out on top of the duvet cover, pinning it down, before he lets out a lazy yawn. You run a hand down his side and Midnight wriggles appreciatively at your touch, before you turn, so that you’ve got your back to him and drift uneasily off to sleep.


	2. Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You meet everyone involved with the show.

You’re working in Pinewood Studios that Monday morning, assisting another choreographer with a routine for, _‘The Woman in Pink,’_ an art house film about a Japanese woman and cherry blossoms and you only just finish your role in time. Consequently you’re forced to head past people at a run, so that you can slip inside the black car on time that’s taking you to the main BBC building for your photo shoot. You greet the driver and urge him to stop quickly at a sandwich shop, so that you can eat en-route. As you do so, trying not to get crumbs over both yourself and the car, your stomach flutters with both nerves and excitement. How wonderful it will be to get all glammed up for the photo shoot and to begin this process, but how very nervous you feel about meeting the other judges and having to pose with them, before you even know one another. Especially with Mycroft! You still haven’t heard from him and he’s turned into a very hulking, scowling figure in your mind. Could he really be just as he appears on screen? A man who has no qualms about dishing out low figures and who says a lot of his remarks with little care or tact? You hope not. 

 

When you get to the building you’re directed through the maze of white-walled corridors that all look the same into the room where the photo shoot is being conducted. A white screen that has bright lights either side of it has been put up at the far end and the room is already bustling with people. A black dress rail that is full of sparkly looking clothes is to the left and a woman with blonde hair is looking through them all with an intense expression upon her face. Another woman with long dark hair is near by carrying a tape measure, whilst assistants to the two constantly scurry in and out. Your fellow judges are there too, with their backs turned to you, but already having been dressed in stylish dark suits that fit them perfectly with white shirts and black ties. You see the tall figure of Mycroft Holmes standing off to the side of Len and Bruno. He’s got his hands in his pockets, his elbows sticking out, and though you can’t see it from this angle the luxurious and soft looking dark blue lining of his jacket is faintly visible, whilst the light bounces off his auburn hair, making it shine. You notice that he’s cutting a rather attractive figure, but whilst the dark-haired Bruno and silver-haired Len are chatting quite happily away, their bodies turned in towards one another, with Bruno almost raucously laughing at one point, Mycroft’s still and silent, impatient even. 

 

“Hello,” you clear your throat.

 

The women from the costume department smile at you, the blonde straightening up from her mission, whilst Bruno and Len instantly turn around. Mycroft merely takes his hands out of his pockets, looks over his shoulder at you and gives you a gaze up and down with those blue eyes of his that is enough to send the blood rushing to your face. It’s like you’re nothing. He looks at his chunky silver watch as he faces the front again. 

 

“F/N! Darling it is so good to see you,” Bruno says with wide arms. Your face clears and you begin to relax again as your eyes go from Mycroft and his less than desirable behaviour to Bruno. The Italian comes forwards, places his hands on your shoulders and kisses at both of your cheeks. You withdraw from each other with a smile and you go over to Len, who you end up partly hugging as you kiss him on the cheek. It’s an exchange like the one that you’d have with your grandfather. 

 

“It’s good to see you,” he says genuinely with twinkling eyes. 

 

“And you,” you return, before your stomach chooses that exact moment to let out a very large rumble. Your hands flap to it and your face goes red as you smile at Len awkwardly. 

 

“F/N,” Bruno says concernedly as he comes back to your side. “Have you not eaten?” He puts a hand on your shoulder. 

 

“Just a sandwich,” you confess with a bit of a guilty smile as you turn your head to look at him, “Been kind of busy this morning.”

 

“A sandwich!” Bruno exclaims, before he gives a very exaggerated shake of his head. “That will not do. We must have you eating more my darling and drinking too. You look pale and dehydrated. We cannot have the new star of our show fainting on us.”

 

Mycroft clears his throat and jerks his head up and down like an angry mule. You can only see the side of him, but you are aware enough of his eyes to see how hard and stern they look. In that moment he’s truly living up to his nickname. “Oh,” you look back to Bruno, “I wouldn't want to inconvenience anybody.”

 

“ ‘Inconvenience anybody?’ Nonsense,” Bruno says with an almighty wave of his hands, “A few more minutes won’t do anyone any harm. I shall send for Mrs. Martha Hudson. She’s in charge of all the catering. She should have retired, but I don’t think she could face it. Anyway, she’s always popping in and her tea is to die for. Nobody makes a better cup and I'm sure that she could whip you up a very handsome, filling soup in moments too.”

 

“She’s the bees knees,” Len chimes in, his eyes still sparkling.

 

“Oh, that’s very kind of you,” you respond gratefully, looking in between them both. Mycroft makes another loud clearing of his throat. Thinking that he might be getting annoyed that you haven’t made a formal introduction yet you go to stand in front of him and extend a hand. “I'm F/N L/N,” you say. 

 

Mycroft stares at you, no doubt taking in your messy hair, which you’ve got scrunched up at the back of your head and which you’ve had to keep tightening as its constantly threatened to loosen, your rather firm e/c eyes, lips that are slightly dry from all your running about despite the Vaseline that you’ve scraped over them, your black crop top that’s got a diagonal bottom and your longer white t-shirt, dark trousers and brown boots. The chain of the pass that you’d used to get through the building is sticking out of your trouser pocket. In Mycroft’s opinion you’re more fit to be going horse riding than to be doing a photo shoot. “Yes, I know who you are,” he says, sniffing at your hand and not even shaking it. 

 

Your lips part. You've met some difficult people in your time, but his inability to even try and make an effort from the off makes him one of the worst. 

 

“Ignore him,” Bruno says, withdrawing his head from where he’s now by the door. He’d just been telling someone in the corridor to go and fetch Mrs. Hudson. The Italian comes to stand close to you again. “He’s just annoyed because that hot young thing’s pulled out of his show.”

 

“If you ask me Mycroft,” Len says, turning to the younger man, “You’re better off without her. She sounded far too indecisive for my liking”-

 

“Yes, it’s true,” Mycroft drawls in a thoughtful fashion, and his eyes scan you all for a moment, before he goes on, “Perhaps I _am_ better off without Soo Lin Yao. Did you know that she had some sort of mental breakdown and got herself checked into rehab? I don’t need anyone that unreliable or emotionally unstable.” You make a sound like an angry cat at his lack of sympathy, but if he hears it then he ignores you. “I'm sure too that her understudy Janine Hawkins will do a fine job. I'm frustrated by the situation because of all the tickets that have already been bought, all the posters that will need to be changed and the songs put in a different key, all of which I’ll have to oversee in between doing these shows. But I am also,” and now his eyes turn to you and you alone, “Not amused by the fact that you’ve kept us waiting Miss. L/N and that you now threaten to keep us doing so even longer just because you can’t organize yourself.” You open your mouth, about to say that just because he’s been let down by women professionally before doesn’t mean that you should be tarred with the same brush and not even given a proper chance. Mycroft seems to be even more encouraged by that though and he turns towards you further as he goes on, “You may think that it’s an acceptable practice to do so on those films that you work on, where no doubt nothing ever runs like clockwork, but here at the BBC and on this show we like to keep to a certain time and order. It’s called discipline Miss. L/N and it’s about time that you learnt it and proved yourself to be different from your sex.”

 

“Oh come now Mycroft, there’s really no need to be talking to the lady in such a way,” Bruno says with a wave of his hand, his features dropping into a rather forlorn expression. “There are plenty of men who could do with improving themselves too.” Mycroft shoots him a bit of a dark glare, as if he’s saying that he hopes Bruno isn't including him in that. 

 

“Very ungentlemanly,” Len mutters. 

 

You meanwhile splutter, “I wasn’t late was I?” as you look down at the thin, black watch that’s strapped to your wrist, but there’s really no point in you doing so because you’ve already been there for a few minutes and you can’t even remember the precise time that you’d arrived despite the fact that you’d jotted it down when you’d signed in. 

 

“By my watch you were three minutes late,” Mycroft sniffs, and you feel a sudden flare of annoyance rise up inside you. 

 

“Perhaps you’ll find that your watch is three minutes fast then,” you retort with a level look upon your face and Bruno lets out a burst of grating laughter, whilst Len’s face brightens at you not taking any crap from Mycroft. 

 

Mycroft however does not look impressed or amused, but before he can make his no doubt waspish reply a short, harried looking woman with grey hair and who’s wearing a purple cardigan with a pretty white and violet top paired with dark trousers enters the room. 

 

“Ah Mrs. Hudson,” Bruno says as you all turn towards the newcomer, “I know it’s perhaps a bit unscheduled, but could you possibly make a cup of tea for us and some soup for F/N? She’s practically famished,” he lets out a bit of a laugh, slapping you on the shoulder. 

 

You pull a bit of an awkward, apologetic face. Mrs. Hudson’s inquisitive features rapidly begin to soften as they look at you. “I suppose that I could make an exception,” she wags a finger at Bruno, “But just this once mind.” She winks at you and you smile. 

 

“See? I told you she was good,” Bruno says with a bit of a nudge at you as Mrs. Hudson bustles off again. 

 

Mycroft lets out a bit of a sigh. Ignoring him you become fully immersed in conversation with Bruno and Len who introduce the dark-haired woman and the blonde-haired woman from the costume department to you as Irene Adler and Mary Morstan respectively. The women begin to measure and size you up and Irene’s tape measure continues to be moved across you even when Mrs. Hudson returns with a trolley full of tea and hot, creamy tomato soup. Mary meanwhile stands a little back as you begin to eat, taking in your hair and height and making suggestions to herself about what would look good on you. You find it all a little disconcerting, you always do when these things happen, but you carry on the conversation with Bruno and Len the best that you can, answering any questions that Irene and Mary have when you need to. No sooner have you put the last mouthful of soup into your mouth however before you’re being whisked away into an adjoining room by Irene, whilst Mary follows you with a red sparkly dress she’s selected and some matching heels. You can hear Bruno’s laughter coming from behind you as you ungracefully swallow your mouthful, flapping your hands. 

 

The room you enter is small and square with a grey; blue patterned carpet and white walls. At the back is a line of mirrors and dressing tables that have white chairs before them. A dark curly haired woman who’s wearing a gold ruffled dress over some jeans to get into the spirit no doubt is popping some make-up bottles onto the tables. She turns to you when you enter and you see that her darker skin is complimented today by red lipstick and some eye-liner. A small team of her assistants hover close-by and some plastic containers, which had no doubt been used to help protect the suits now worn by the male judges lie upon the floor next to another dress rail of clothes. 

 

“Ah,” the woman in gold says with a look of satisfaction upon her face, “You must be F/N. I'm Sally Donovan and I’ll be doing your make-up today.” 

 

“It’s nice to meet you,” you say, going across and shaking her hand. 

 

“Right,” she says, stepping back and surveying you, before she looks at the tone of the dress and shoes that Mary’s decided upon. Once again you feel a little self-conscious. “Please take a seat,” Sally says, gesturing to the closest chair. You quickly go across to sit on it. 

 

You soon feel more relaxed as Mary, Irene and Sally all draw you into easy conversation and at the babble of unconcerned chatter that comes from their assistants as the exact make-up that will suit your skin tone is decided on, you quickly get dressed, your hair is done and the make-up is applied. 

 

In fact you only stiffen a little and cause Sally to nearly poke you in the eye with eye-liner when she asks, “So, are you dating any one?” She quickly apologizes at what your reaction nearly causes her to do and puts a hand soothingly upon your shoulder, caressing at the skin there, before she says, “You don’t have to tell us, but it won’t go beyond this room if you do. Trust us. The amount of secrets that we've kept”- she breaks off with a little shake of her head and throws a smile at Irene and Mary who you see are exchanging a bit of a glance behind you. 

 

No doubt they think that you’re being a bit sullen and withdrawn. Not wanting to cause a bad impression on the people who’ll be helping you through this process you allow your shoulders to relax a little as you say, “No, there’s no one at the moment.”

 

“Perhaps we’ll have to fix you up with someone then,” Sally says, eyeing you through the mirror and you blush and smile a little awkwardly. “As long as it’s not John though hey Mary?” she grins at the other woman. Feeling a little like you’re missing something you flex your hand slightly where it’s resting upon the chair’s arms and let out a breath. “John Watson’s one of the camera men on the show,” Sally explains, catching your movement, “Mary’s had a crush on him ever since she started here.”

 

Mary shakes her head and mimes shoving Sally as if she’s threatening to ruin the progress that she’s made on your make-up if she doesn’t shut up. You smile. 

 

“As long as it’s not Sherlock I suppose you wouldn't mind Sally,” Irene steps forwards with a coy smile upon her face as she rolls the length of the tape measure back and forth between her fingers. 

 

“Hey, watch it,” Sally points the eye-liner at her. They exchange a quick smile, before she explains to you, “Sherlock’s one of the other camera men on the show.” She’s not aware that you’re already in the know about this. “He’s such a nuisance. Honestly, I swear if this show ever goes down hill then it will be because of him. He’s always messing about and John makes him even worse”-

 

“I think John makes him better,” Mary says softly and Sally rolls her eyes. 

 

Your smile grows because of that and the fact that you can tell that despite Sally’s attitude she’s got a grudging respect for Sherlock. 

 

The conversation doesn’t get a chance to go any further than that though because suddenly you’re deemed appropriate enough and you stand up and give them a little twirl. As you catch the edge of the dress with your hands you swear that you’ve never felt so glamorous, not even at any film premieres you’ve previously gone to. It must be the Strictly magic. 

 

“Another success,” Sally says as the three of them look at you approvingly and you thank and smile at them, before you head back into the main room where all the other judges are. 

 

You've barely gotten through the entranceway however when Bruno exclaims, “Oh my darling! You’re a vision in red! Don’t you think she looks beautiful?” he gestures at you. 

 

“Absolutely splendid,” Len nods in agreement. 

 

Mycroft doesn’t say anything. His blue eyes just fix on you unblinkingly and you hold his gaze for one piercing moment, before you turn your attention to Bruno again. You miss the way that Mycroft tilts his head at you after you look away as he processes the sharp quality that had been to your eyes as you’d glanced at him just now. He observes the way that your hair looks glossier than ever as strands of it fan out from behind your head. Looks at the curve of your neck, the ridge of your collarbone, which for some reason he longs to press a finger against just to see how sturdy it feels. Observes the way that your dress, which seems to encase you in a thousand glittering stars that you are at the very heart of and which couldn't suit you any more, dips down teasingly to reveal a slither of cleavage. Mycroft swallows and his nose wrinkles slightly as Bruno, who has just gone forward, leads you back past him. The Italian’s hand is delicately joined with yours in the air between you and Mycroft smells a tangy, exotic scent radiating from you. It makes him swivel on his heel and follow you with his eyes, as you, chattering obliviously to Bruno, increase the distance between you both. 

 

“Right, if you could all take your places,” the photographer Mike Stamford gestures towards the white screen. 

 

Bruno and you make it there first, still talking amicably to one another. You totter a little in your heels and you laugh as Bruno helps steady you by placing a hand on your arm. Mycroft feels something odd spike up in his chest at the sight. Len joins you next, whilst Mycroft skulks into the scene from behind him, wondering a little why your transformation seems to be fascinating his eyes so much. 

 

Mike, a chubby man with his BBC pass over his crumpled white shirt, bends a little, squinting into the heavy looking camera he’s holding. He frowns. “You’re going to have to squash up a bit,” Mike says, gesturing with his free hand. 

 

You swallow, smiling a little nervously and your heart starts to thump with a renewed vigour as you become more enclosed by Bruno and Len. You can smell the scent of Bruno’s flavourful cologne, Len’s more refined, musky one and even detect a trace of something that smells a little like coconut wafting down from where Mycroft’s standing on the other side of Len. 

 

The clash of combined scents makes you sneeze. “Sorry,” you say. 

 

Mycroft, who had been starting to thaw towards you a little because of your outfit and the realization that you _can_ actually scrub up well after all, is instantly reminded of everything that had previously irritated him about you at your action and says in a sardonic voice, “Don’t tell me that you’re allergic to something now too and we’ll have to stop, so that you can go to hospital?” But much to his misfortune he sneezes a moment later himself. 

 

“Ha,” Bruno laughs, “You might want to re-think your words there Mycroft.” He rubs a tear of mirth from his eye. 

 

“Yes, apparently you’re also allergic to whatever I am,” you say in a satisfied tone. 

 

“Better call for two ambulances then,” Len quips. 

 

As Mycroft’s nose wrinkles he doesn’t look amused. 

 

“Right,” Mike says, taking control once more, “Len if you could swap places with Bruno?” Both men make to do so and Mycroft and you exchange a little heated look with one another in the gap between their moving bodies. “If you turn your body in towards F/N, Len? Good, good,” Mike says when Len does just that, “And if you F/N could do the same to Bruno and so forth. Yes, good, now all look towards me and”-

 

_FLASH!_

 

The first photograph gets taken. You let out a little breath and blink at the harsh light. 

 

“Cor blimey,” Len says, “Do you know F/N?” He peers down at you. “That always happens to me. I always forget how bright it is.” 

 

Bruno laughs again. Mycroft simply purses his lips. 

 

Mike lets out a bit of a chuckle. “Right, come in a bit tighter with each other and we’ll go again. Mycroft if you could lean back a little towards Bruno? Good.”

 

You do a couple more similar takes, before you do one where you’re dancing with Len. One of your hands is on your hip, the other lifted to meet Len’s and your body is in front of him, whilst Mycroft and Bruno stand behind and either side of you. Your cheeks are beginning to ache by then though because of all the smiling and your eyes are beginning to water because of all the light.

 

“No,” Mike says once that photo’s taken, “We need to go again I'm afraid.” He looks at where you’re frantically trying to stop the water from running out of your eyes without ruining your make-up by blinking and holding your hands up. “F/N your expression dropped just before we went. Can you try and hold it please?” 

 

Mycroft huffs out a breath of irritation and you glare at him. 

 

“Why not try with me my darling? I can help you relax more. I'm not as stiff as Len,” Bruno says with a little suggestive wriggle of his hips that makes you smile, before he swoops forwards and Len, grumbling a little, steps back. 

 

You nod gratefully at Bruno and swallow, placing one of your hands in one of his and the other upon his shoulder, tilting back, whilst he supports your waist. 

 

_FLASH!_

 

“Better,” Mike says with a nod of enthusiasm. 

 

But when Mycroft mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, ‘Thank God for that,’ you straighten up, let go of Bruno and swivel around to face him. 

 

“You’re being completely insufferable you know that?” you tell him without being able to help it.

 

“I need to be back at the theatre for three,” Mycroft informs you with steady eyes, “Which means that we only have another half-an-hour, before I need to go and at this rate there’ll have to be another photo shoot booked because you’re so incapable of getting anything right.”

 

“Good,” you say dismissively with a backward wave of your hands, “I’ll tell someone not to bother making you come to that one and then you can stay at the theatre all you like. I think I'm allergic.”

 

Bruno lets out another laugh, Len chuckles and Mycroft and you stare seriously at one another. Neither of you have got eyes for anyone else and as you look at him you feel rage filling you up. You swear that you’ve never met anyone more disagreeable in your life. Whilst Mycroft thinks that he’s never met anyone less willing to put up with him. Neither of you notice the way that Mike mutters something to his colleague at the door who’s got her black hair up in a ponytail and who’s wearing a dark top that has the BBC logo on the back of it. But you do notice the way that she returns with a black chair, placing it so that it’s in the middle of the white screen sideways on. Both Mycroft and you look at it questionably and Bruno and Len look equally confused. 

 

“F//N and Mycroft there seems to be a natural energy between you both, so let’s use that and see what we can get out of it,” Mike says with more vigour in his tone. Mycroft and you look at each other with a grudging uncertainty, neither of you wanting to admit the truth that’s behind Mike’s words. “Mycroft go around and put your hands on the back of the chair, hunch over, but ground yourself, good! F/N face him.” You turn to do so, before you swallow a little when you see how cold Mycroft looks, like a glacier that cannot be moved, as the expression he wears grows more intent. His powerful legs stand a little apart and his tie dangles down. “Put your hands on your hips,” Mike urges you.

 

“Work it,” Bruno encourages as you step forwards a little tentatively, putting one foot in front of the other and a single hand upon your hip as the other stays with its fingers curled up a little by your side. You stare piercingly into Mycroft’s eyes and you don’t know what makes you do it, perhaps the goading and almost challenging look that he’s giving you, but you place one of your feet on the chair and lean forwards, pushing into it with your arm resting over your leg, your chin tilted and one eyebrow raised just before the next flash goes off. 

 

It captures Bruno mid-laugh, Len with his eyebrows raised and Mycroft scrutinizing you as you almost pout back at him. 

 

“Excellent!” Mike says, and getting into it now, without even being told to, you begin to improvise, stepping off the chair and moving around in a lingering, predatory fashion towards Mycroft who peers down at you with arched eyebrows. You like how the energy that’s sparking between you begins to shift in your favour as Mycroft grows more uncertain. It’s as if your fire is melting his ice as you begin to get more in control. 

 

“Oh my,” Bruno mutters, oddly taken by the scene before him as the camera goes off once more. 

 

“Good, good,” Mike says, “Now I want one that properly incorporates the four of you once more. Let’s get that chair moved out. F/N I want all the other judges to hold you in the air, whilst you lie in their arms. You up for that?” You nod, sensing the rather provoking gaze that Mycroft’s shooting you. You’re not going to back down now. 

 

The chair gets taken away and then it’s decided that Len will support your head, Bruno your middle and Mycroft your feet. You have to first lie down sideways on the floor with your head propped up by your hand, before they lift you up a little awkwardly. Your pose is broken until you repair it. You feel your legs tapping together as Mycroft sends a cold shimmering across your ankles as if he’s dusting them in frost. You swallow, and you feel relieved when the final photo is taken and you’re standing upright again. You miss the way that Mycroft sniffs delicately at his hand as he pretends to be straightening his shirt cuff, smelling that exotic scent again and something that’s distinctly you beneath it, but which he can’t make out properly. 

 

Suddenly that’s that, the photo shoot’s done and you’re heading to the adjoining room and getting changed once more. 

 

*

 

When Mycroft gets home to his swanky penthouse apartment that night to say that he’s in a bad mood would be an understatement. The amount of work and irritating people that he’d had to face once he’d gotten back to the theatre had been ridiculous and he’d already had enough because of you. He crosses the apartment bad-naturedly, going past the white rug and cosy brown leather settee and armchairs that have a clear coffee table in between them to the space on the bookshelf that’s by the window. He’s not going to read though. Instead his destination is to the small, circular fish tank with its black-rimmed lid that shares the book space and which is where Goldfish 123 is waiting to be fed. He’d stopped giving his fish names after the first three had gone in less than a month. After not naming them Mycroft finds their sudden loss easier now. Mycroft irritably picks up the tub of food off from the shelf where it’s kept by the tank, takes the lid off and crumbles the fish flakes into the clear water. Goldfish 123 does a quick circle of the Houses of Parliament decoration that’s in the middle of his tank over the blue and white stones. Mycroft had considered a silver disco ball, which represented his career better, but when he’d seen the Houses of Parliament one in the pet store it had instantly seemed more fitting somehow. After all if he’s serious then his fish should be also. The fish darts upwards, gleeful at the fact that it’s feeding time. 

 

The pungent aroma of the fish flakes reminds Mycroft suddenly of the scent of you and he finds himself muttering, “Been around for five minutes. Who does she think she is? Just because she’s won a few awards…they’re really not that hard to win these days.” He looks now to the small shelf he’s got over the TV on the right. There he keeps his own awards and with the exception of the one he’d won for _‘Most Hated TV Judge,’_ in one of those silly magazine awards he’d always felt pretty proud of them. That is until you’d gotten the job, he’d looked up the awards that you’d won and felt frustrated when your list was bigger than his and more notably impressive. He’d felt a little threatened that there would be a new judge coming in this year in the first place. He doesn’t like change at the best of times, but more than that he’d been worried for what whomever came in would do for his own position. They’d be the newest judge and what would that make him? But after meeting you today now he feels even more against it all. To suffer such change and possibly be relegated to someone who the public have now gotten used to, who they can look at and know what to expect, all for someone like you who doesn’t have a clue! “She should be showing me more respect!” he blurts out in another tidal wave of rage. Goldfish 123 hesitates for the briefest of fractions, before he begins to nibble tentatively on the closest flake of food. “I expect you think that I'm being silly,” Mycroft tells the fish, half-looking at what has been his companion for the last two weeks consideringly, before he replaces the lid of the food and returns it to the shelf. “But you should have seen her…” Mycroft trails off, picturing you in that dress again, the ridge of your collarbone, “Coming in late, transforming into _that.”_ Mycroft swallows and if Goldfish 123 had been a human than it would have been raising an eyebrow at him. Mycroft feels irked by that point he’s just made in particular. Up until you’d re-entered the room in that dress it had been easy just to think of you as some silly woman, another of your sex about to let him down in the workplace. But as soon as you’d come in, in that dress it had been like a switch had been flicked on inside him and he’d had to fight to hold onto that same dismissive opinion. Fight for God knows why. He turns abruptly to the right, so that he can go off into his bedroom and get changed. 

 

* 

 

“How was the photo shoot?” your mother asks eagerly when she calls you that night. 

 

“Good,” you say, sitting by the kitchen island on a stool with your hand curled around the stem of a glass of red wine, “But I am so tired right now.”

 

“What were the other judges like?” your mother says just as keenly. 

 

_“Oh,”_ your voice falls without you being able to help it. 

 

_“F/N?”_ she asks. 

 

“Well, Bruno and Len were all right, but then I already sensed that they were going to be,” you say with a bit of a skyward roll of your eyes, “But Mycroft… _well”-_ you rake your free hand through your hair, feeling uncomfortable as you remember how his attitude had offset his attractive appearance-“Well Mycroft was just a bit of a nightmare to be honest. He seemed really grumpy, not to mention rude. You know how I told you that the other two rang me?” Your mother hums. “Well, he never did, and today he was all accusing me of being late and whatever”-

 

“And were you?” she asks fairly. 

 

“Maybe a little, but I had to eat,” you say defensively. “Besides,” you run your hands through your hair again, “The other two were accommodating and nice enough about it, so I don’t see why he couldn't be. Bruno said it was just because he was having difficulty in one of his shows. Apparently someone’s pulled out and unfortunately it was a woman and because of that it was like he’d just decided to take it all out on me, which he didn't have to.” You let out a bit of an indignant sigh, thinking that Mycroft’s a rather sexist and annoying man, before you add in a half-truthful fashion, “I think that I'm just going to spend time with the other two and ignore him.”

 

“Won’t you be sitting by him though?” your mother asks. 

 

“Urgh, don’t remind me,” you groan, knowing that the seating of the judges is unlikely to change and that you’re more than likely going to find yourself sitting in between Mycroft and Len. “Okay,” you add grudgingly, “I guess I'm going to ignore him as much as possible then.”

 

“Is he really that bad?” she asks. 

 

“Mmmhmm. You know how Craig used to put on that Mr. Nasty front and I wasn’t sure if he was really like that, but I didn't think that he was and then I met him and he wasn’t?” you say. 

 

“Yes,” your mother says patiently, no doubt remembering all the gushing that you’d done once you’d found out how lovely Craig really was. 

 

“Well with Mycroft it’s like he actually is how he comes across on screen. Like there’s no barrier, no front, that’s just how he is,” you finish, sounding distinctly unimpressed.

 

“Well just remember”-

 

“I know Mum, everyone has a story,” you recite, waving a hand that’s both exasperated and fond even though she can’t see you. 

 

“Exactly,” your mother says approvingly, before she goes on, “Maybe he’ll be different the next time you see him.”

 

“Hmm,” you say, though you don’t sound terribly convinced.

 

*

 

The celebrities are officially announced the next day and though you’d heard some rumours you’re just as keen as everyone else, if not more so, to see what the final line up is. You’re pretty impressed with it. Sure there’s the usual good looking ones and the ones that are going to have their previous dance experience questioned by the press, but there’s some surprises too and you’re particularly excited to hear about the inclusion of TV baking star Molly Hooper amongst the line up. Her show _‘Cats and Cupcakes’_ where Molly makes a wide range of delicious baked goods in her home that is full of cats and cat related memorabilia has long been one of your guilty pleasures. You’d particularly enjoyed the episode where Molly had baked cakes to raise money for a cat sanctuary and paid said cat sanctuary a long visit in between all the clips of her cooking. Midnight had not been as impressed as you. He’d curled up on your lap and nudged at you for attention. Molly seems like such a sweet and enthusiastic woman though. You just hope that she can dance. 

 

*

At the official press launch of the show that Thursday at Elstree studios where the show is also filmed you once more find yourself amongst your fellow judges and for the first time the celebrities. You even get a chance to quickly tell Molly about how much you like her show and she gives you an enthusiastic hug in return. Bruno and Len in their dark suits and bow ties are as chatty as ever with Bruno in particular seeming even more excited underneath the gaze of cameras and press attention. Mycroft in his navy suit and bow tie, which flatters him you have to admit, seems just as elusive as he was before, smiling tightly for the cameras. As the new judge though a fair bit of attention is falling on you as well as the new contestants and as you enter the red carpet from the back of the set-up, flanked by Bruno and Len whose hands you hold, you feel a little exposed in your long gold frock, silver nail polish and with your hair tied up in a bun at the back of your head. You’re used to being behind the camera not in front of it. You try not to show what a change all this is for you though and smile confidently as you turn this way and that and pose for photographs. Then it’s on to the long line of press for the interviews and you have to take charge and fly solo for a bit, though Bruno acts as a reassuring presence when he occasionally pops up beside you and wraps an arm around your shoulders, telling the interviewer how good you’re going to be. It would be easy what with being mostly asked the same questions to start getting a bit complacent and disinterested, but everyone is so energized and outwardly excited-apart from Mycroft of course-that you feel the same buzz that you’d first felt when you’d got the phone call. Is this really happening? Are you really walking down the red carpet and being interviewed about being the new Strictly judge? It feels like a dream, and as you answer such a question with, ‘Amazing. You know I’ve been such a big fan of the series from the beginning. It helped inspire me to make dancing a central part in films again and I just can’t wait to get started,’ you miss the way that Mycroft gives a little eye roll as he goes past you on his way to his next interview. You can’t know that he’s filing the information he’s just learnt about you away in spite of his outward reaction. 

 

“And who do you think will fall victim to the Strictly curse this year?” Kitty Riley, journalist for _‘The Sun,’_ asks, her ginger pigtails and pale delicate blue eyes giving off a false air of innocence but the delicious smile that’s playing about her face showing you exactly who she really is. 

 

“Oh I”- you say, your face falling a little at the obvious question. Every year its become a thing to see which one of the couples might fall for each other romantically and though privately you like watching out for such a thing professionally you don’t think that it’s something that you should really be commenting on. These are people’s lives after all. It’s their business what they do with them. 

 

“The footballer Greg Lestrade perhaps?” Kitty persists. 

 

You smile a little tightly at her, thinking that Greg would be the obvious choice for such a thing. “You know I think instead of worrying about stuff like that and who might be with who for a few months or whatever we should just celebrate the fact that a show like this exists on TV. A show that is so feel good and that can be watched by the whole family. It’s really escapism at its best.”

 

You get moved onto the next interview after that and you miss the way that Kitty Riley looks after you with narrowed eyes. Bruno doesn’t though and he puts a friendly arm around you later when you’re in private and murmurs, “You should be careful of her. She’s a snake.”

 

“I can handle it,” you smile, grateful for him looking out for you. Though your stomach remains a little tight about the encounter until your mother screeches at you down the phone in excitement that night. 

 

*

 

That following Monday you find yourself in the studio recording the launch show that will be shown that Saturday. The purpose of this show is just to pair the couples up, but even though it’s a rather simple set up and there’s no judging required you still feel a flutter of nerves as your make-up and hair are being done. You’d been the same earlier when you’d first come in, and your nerves had been evident to anyone, even to Sherlock and John who’d succeeded in making you smile as they’d whirled around the floor with their cameras pretending to almost crash into one another. You’d laughed at their antics, but now, in your silver dress and with your hair being scraped back with the assistance of copious amounts of hairspray that’s already had you sneezing you feel nervous again. Not even the silver hoop earrings and nail varnish, which accompany your ensemble, make you feel much better, though they do help to make you feel more glamorous. You’d done a bit of a dress run of the show earlier, so you know that clips of the red carpet event will be shown first and then all the professional dancers will launch straight from that into an amazing mix of all the dances that are featured in the show. The celebrities will be revealed and then the judges will come on together, take to the floor, you’ll do a little simple routine with Bruno [thank God it’s not Mycroft] and take your position behind the judges desk. The rest of the show should pass in a straightforward manner. As you worry about that tricky dance section though you zone out and stop listening to all the conversations that are being conducted around you. In fact you don’t even notice that Bruno’s snuck in until he’s put his hands upon your shoulders. You let out a bit of a shriek and start, before you laugh in embarrassment when you realize that it’s only him. 

 

“You’ll be fine my darling,” he says knowingly in his navy suit, matching tie and white shirt, “I think we’re just, ah”- he breaks off when a bored sounding Phillip Anderson announces over the tannoy system, “Would the judges all make their way to their positions backstage please? That’s the judges to their positions backstage please.” Bruno shrugs at you as if to tell you that it’s time to go. 

 

You let out a bit of a breath and stand. Sally, Mary and Irene all wish you luck as do their closest assistants and you smile at them all, before you follow Bruno to the relevant dark backstage area where you’ll be lifted up through the floor onto a main stage along with the other judges. People scurry all around you, some speaking into walkie-talkies. Bruno links your arms and rubs reassuringly at your hand and by the time that you arrive where Len and Mycroft-both in dark suits with black ties-are standing as far apart from each other as they can be, although your stomach is still jiving with nerves you feel a lot better from Bruno’s company. 

 

“Ah,” Len nods at you both in acknowledgement. 

 

Mycroft’s eyes just shimmer with something as he looks at you, before he quickly averts them and faces the front again. You see the way that his hands clench and unclench as he does so and wonder what’s going on with him. You can’t know that again he’s feeling a little unsettled about the way that you’ve managed to look so good and by the way that you continue to appeal to his eyes. He’s never had such strange feelings around anyone before. Whilst he’s also a little annoyed about your easy mannerism with Bruno. He puts that down to the silly, cheerfulness you’d shown you were capable of at the photo shoot before and how anyone getting along so easily tends to annoy him. 

 

Your heart thuds as Bruno and you take your positions in between them, with you standing next to Mycroft this time and when you hear the boom of the sparks going off as the celebrities are revealed you let out a sharp breath and start a little. 

 

Bruno laughs-though not in an unkind way-beside you. “It is exciting no?”

 

You nod because though you feel like you’re trapped in the stomach of a whale, whilst the storm of music, raucous applause and smatterings of laughter happen above you, it _is_ exciting. In fact your whole skin starts to prickle from it all and adrenalin flows through you. As the floor finally begins to rise with all of you upon it you feel aware of every slight movement of your body. Aware of how your feet feel in the silver heels that you’re wearing and aware of the minute brush of noise that they make as they shift against the floor. Aware of the slight chill that curls around your legs like the ghostly hand of winter that’s come all too soon. Aware of your dry throat and how your heart feels like it’s trapped somewhere between your ears. Aware of every rustle of the men’s trousers beside you and that scent of coconut. 

 

“Pose my darling,” Bruno murmurs and you suddenly go into performing, work mode. Your back straightens, your hips thrust out and as you burst out into the colour of the studio where red, white and blue confetti are raining down upon you, you place a hand upon your waist. A smile blooms on your face and you’re aware that Bruno and Len must be doing the same. You catch Bruno even offering a little wave out of the corner of your eye. But all that you can properly focus on is the amazing dancing that’s happening in front of you. The celebrities have now mixed in with the professionals and everyone is shimmying and shaking their bums for all they’re worth to the salsa song _‘Pa Bravo Yo’_ by _Justo Betancourt._ You feel someone taking your arm and you look to the left to see that it’s Bruno. You let him guide you onto the floor. You go down the steps with ease and soon become lost in it, taking Bruno’s hand and letting him spin and dip you, completely unaware of Mycroft’s blue eyes narrowing slightly as they watch you all the time as Len and he do their own moves behind you. There’s an eruption of sparks as the final thrum of the song rings out and then you’re making your way to the judges desk on slightly shaky legs and Bruno is letting you go and take your seat first. You sit down in between Mycroft and Len, smiling in relief at the friendly audience members who catch your eye as you do so. Mycroft clears his throat, and you can’t know that he’s finding you a most annoying woman for making his eyes feel constantly drawn to you and for making him feel almost jealous just now when he’d seen you dance with Bruno. It hadn’t been jealousy though, just that feeling of frustration at the fact that you seem to be having a much easier ride on the show than he had. No one should be able to just swan in to one of the biggest shows on TV and fit right in. Not when he hadn’t and he still feels like he’s struggling to do such a thing. Still struggling to claim his place. You half-listen to the presenters blonde-haired Tess Daly and the darker-haired Claudia Winkleman, whilst your mind thinks how strange it is to be seeing things from this angle and how strange it is for you to be here at all. 

 

“…of course we must welcome the four people who will be helping us keep track of how our latest recruits are doing this year,” Tess goes on as she waves her hand, “Head Judge Len Goodman, Bruno Tonioli, Mycroft Holmes and let’s not forget our new judge F/N L/N.” You try not to smile in a silly fashion, but you can’t help it. You still can’t believe that you’re being included in this group though you’d rather not share anything with Mycroft. “Now F/N,” Tess smiles at you, “We’ll be talking to you more later, but for now just tell us what it’s like hearing that you’re going to be a Strictly judge?”

 

“It’s amazing,” you breathe, though you can’t help but stiffen up a moment later when you hear Mycroft giving a disapproving sniff. No one else sees that though because the camera’s already gone back to Tess. 

 

“ ‘Amazing,’” Tess grins, “What other answer could there be?” she asks, raising her hands, so that her palms are facing upward and giving a little shrug. The audience chuckle appreciatively. 

 

You smile, feeling a little more relaxed again and watch the VT’s that introduce this years new celebrities. You grin at the one that shows Molly and her numerous cats and Mycroft sniffs again. You frown and turn your head to give him a dark look. It’s like he can sense when your happiness goes above a certain level and he doesn’t like it. He refuses to look at you however-you can’t know that he’s getting increasingly irritated by the fact that by having you so close to him and in particular by being able to smell that scent again it’s making him feel like he has a cold and like he can’t breathe freely-so you turn back to the VT. Obviously you do so just at the exact second that it’s coming to an end and you let out a little breath, feeling even more annoyed with Mycroft. Sensing your infuriation he looks suddenly smug and not being able to resist you ‘accidentally’ kick him as you reach down to take a quick sip of the bottled water that’s by the side of your feet. 

 

Something tightens in Mycroft’s jaw. “That was uncalled for,” he says quietly as you straighten back up, not liking how that one touch from you had sent a shimmering echo out across his body. 

 

“I’m not sure that it was,” you mutter, your eyes blazing as they face the front. You take a vindictive, savage pleasure in imagining the purple-grey bruise that will hopefully now be forming somewhere close to Mycroft’s ankle. 

 

The judge you hate looks at you reproachfully, before his eyes go to face the front again. He clears his throat and shifts his position. The more time he spends with you the more uncomfortable he is at all these feelings sprouting inside him. Feelings that both make him want to be around you and not and the more determined he feels to try to cling onto the dismissive notion he’d first had of you. 

 

As you look to the front too you’re just in time to see Molly being paired up with Kevin Clifton and you smile in relief. Kevin’s always come across as being a very supportive and caring professional dancer and you’re glad that Molly’s going to be with someone who can nurture her. 

 

A little while later Greg Lestrade’s paired up with Janette Manrara who looks very excited to have got this year’s favourite and who, thankfully, and much to Kitty Riley’s displeasure no doubt, already has a romantic partner of her own so there should be no off stage shenanigans this year. 

 

“So F/N,” Tess turns to you at the halfway point, “Welcome again,” she smiles toothily at you and you grin, albeit in a more graceful fashion this time, “What with you being new and all and being able to sympathize with our celebrities in that aspect do you have any advice for our recruits that might help them go far in our competition?” 

 

You think about it for a moment. “Be yourself and embrace it,” you decide on. 

 

Mycroft holds down a snort, relieved that you’d said something he can laugh at and which doesn’t appeal to the strange new sensations in him whatsoever. 

 

Things after that carry on as usual. Anton Du Beke gets paired with this year’s oldest celebrity-author Vera Turner who, according to Sally, apparently lives next door to the flat that Sherlock and John share-and everyone is excited, but apprehensive about the whole thing. 

 

Soon the show is ending and the audience is making their way home. You head to the make-up room, so that you can change behind one of the screens that have been set up there-you’ll be getting your own dressing room once the shows properly start. You hold back from entering though when you hear Mycroft’s mocking voice saying, “ ‘Be yourself and embrace it.’” 

 

“Mycroft I don’t know where this disdain is coming from. F/N’s got as much right to be here as the rest of us have,” Bruno defends you. 

 

Mycroft lets out a scoffing noise, before he says scathingly, “She’s got about as much knowledge about reality as that man from _‘High School Musical’_ does.” 

 

Bruno makes a ‘tching’ noise. “I think you’re merely jealous of the success she’s had and that she’s reached a mainstream audience years before you managed to. Didn't she win her first award at the tender age of twenty-four? Whilst you won yours at the age of twenty-six?” Bruno asks, and you can imagine him raising an eyebrow as he looks at Mycroft now. 

 

Mycroft makes a dismissive sound as if that’s got nothing to do with it, but you choose that moment to step inside the room, letting the clack of your heels announce you as you say, “I agree.” Sally looks up with a half-open mouth from where she’s putting her make-up things away, Bruno tilts his head back to look at you in concern from where he’s been reclining in one of the black chairs and Mycroft’s hand lowers from where he’d been waving it as he turns around to face you. Both of the male judges are still in the clothes that they’d been wearing earlier, though Bruno’s tie looks significantly looser. Mycroft is still as buttoned up as he always is. Mary and Irene who are re-processing the clothes that have already come back from the celebrities on a black dress rail at the bottom of the room half-hide behind it as they watch the scene with interest. All the assistants in between you and them stop and look at you also. Mycroft draws himself up as your heated eyes meet his stormy ones. “Bruno’s right,” you say.

 

“Something, which I'm sure you’ll be saying a lot of on the show,” Mycroft gets in, hating the sudden flash of something dark that he’d felt at your words. 

 

You raise your voice louder as you go on, “You’re jealous of the success I’ve had and you’re snobbish because you’re from a theatre background and I'm from a film one. You hate the fact that I'm a woman and I’ve had more success than you”-

 

“Be very careful before you accuse me of anything Miss. L/N. There is no one I work with or have previously worked with who would ever dare accuse me of being sexist. There are more women than men in the show I'm currently working on”-

 

“Yes, no one who would _‘dare,’_ accuse you of being so? Interesting choice of words there”- you get out sardonically. 

 

“Be very careful,” Mycroft repeats warningly, stepping closer and raising a pointed finger towards the ceiling. 

 

“Or what? You’ll try and get me kicked off the show?” you ask, your heart pounding, but your face showing little trepidation. “That’s what you want isn't it? You’re just a bully,” and you can’t help but feel disappointed that he couldn't have proved you wrong like Craig Revel Horwood had. 

 

“No one wants that at all my darling,” Bruno says, getting to his feet, but Mycroft waves his finger at him, before he can go on or try to intervene. 

 

“I don’t think you being removed from this show would be a bad thing,” the auburn-haired judge murmurs in a silky tone, his hands sliding into his pockets. You look at him out of narrowed eyes. He approaches you. “I’ve got the feeling that you need to be taken down a peg or two.” He stops before you, his hands in his pockets still. 

 

“And I suppose you think that you’re the man to do it?” you say, watching him with cautious eyes like Midnight sometimes does when he’s unsure as to whether his hackles need to be raised or not. “To make me aware of the _‘reality’_ of the situation?”

 

“Perhaps,” Mycroft goes on in a low tone, “I think those awards have rather gone to your head.” 

 

Feeling like you need to you take a step back. “Humph,” you say as you look off to the side. Something quivers inside you. That uncertain little girl again. That side of you that still doesn’t think you’re good enough. “We can’t all have the natural self-confidence that you seem to. Sometimes we need a boost,” you say, and then you turn and move away. You can hear Bruno telling Mycroft off in the background as you leave the room. You take yourself off to the toilets. There you stay in a cubicle with resolutely dry eyes like a naughty stubborn child until Bruno comes to get you, telling you that Mycroft’s gone now.

 

“Good,” is your immediate forceful reply, before you tilt your head onto Bruno’s shoulder as you pout sadly and squeeze at his hand, thanking him for coming to get you and for being far more delicate and aware of your feelings than the auburn-haired judge. 

 

*

 

That Wednesday the line: _‘Which TV judges have apparently had a bust up, before the judging’s even begun?’_ appears in _‘The Sun,’_ and as if that wasn’t bad enough you get a call that afternoon telling you that the Executive Producer of _‘Strictly Come Dancing’_ would like to meet with you that following Thursday afternoon in his office at the main BBC studios.

 

You worry for the rest of the day and barely get any sleep that night. That old dream of fire and your father’s face rises up inside you until you finally come to groggily. 

 

*

 

You go down the black and blue checked carpet in one of the corridors of the building you’ve come to for your meeting in anxiously. You’d struggled just to get this far, agonizing over the right clothes, before in the end you’d decided upon a smart black jacket, trousers and polished shoes along with a white shirt. Your hair is in a ponytail. Currently your heart races and the underside of your chin along with your palms feel all hot and clammy. In your head, which is largely blank with nerves a worst case scenario plays out and you can imagine having to ring your mother and tell her that you’re no longer a judge and you’ve been kicked off the show. If you’d been able to think more sensibly then perhaps it would have occurred to you that because of your contract they couldn't just haul you off without a very good reason, before this series has been completed. But as it is you can’t think like that and all you can think of is that worst case scenario and of how you’ll never forgive yourself if your silly spat with Mycroft Holmes has ruined this opportunity for you. The weight of that possibility falls upon you even more when you see Mycroft-in a three-piece, pinstripe grey suit with white shirt, navy tie and blue and white spotted pocket handkerchief-as he stows his hands in his pockets and stares straight at you when you turn the corner to reach the Executive Producer’s office. You freeze for a moment, before you swallow, gather yourself together and walk as confidently as you can to your fellow judge. 

 

“I take it you’re here for the same reason that I am?” you ask him coolly, coming to stand by the side of him with your back to the door. 

 

When he doesn’t immediately answer you look at him. “You appear to have already come to the correct deduction,” he utters smoothly, “I see no need to waste my speech.” There’s a deliberate pause now. “But if you think that I am going to let my time on the show come to an end because of you then you are very much mistaken.”

 

“I'm not at fault here, if you’d just been more welcoming”-

 

The light wooden door opens behind you. Mycroft and you turn as one to see a tall man with slicked back graying dark hair and stubble standing there in a black suit, crisp white shirt and a tie that has many images of brown rat heads on a black background. The silver tie-pin of a tiger’s head with an open jaw seems to make him only look all the more untrustworthy. He looks between you with brown eyes that seem to come to life as he does so and says; “The Executive Producer will see you now.”

 

Mycroft clears his throat and adjusts his shirt cuffs, before he nods, swivels smartly around on his heel and strides quickly inside the room after the man. Feeling uneasy you follow after him. 

 

The man that had shown you in goes to sit behind a large oak desk that’s littered with papers, an in tray and out tray, and a swirling blue paperweight. But he goes to sit on its right hand side, for there is already someone sitting in its middle: James Moriarty, Executive Producer. You’d met him once before when you’d come in to sign your contract, but that had only been briefly and you’d been excited then. Now, with the fear of being fired raging inside you, you take in the man who you’d then thought charming, if a little slippery, and feel threatened by the lazy, half closed lids of his eyes, which look at you lingeringly. Threatened by the swirling brown colour that’s there. You feel trapped by the half smirk that plays about his lips and by the sleekness of his attire-an expensive navy suit with cream shirt that has a rounded collar, silver star cuff-links, a blue and black checked tie just like the floor outside and a silver tie-pin. His dark hair is slicked down and he looks to be a full ten years younger than his companion and more around your own age. As he sits there with his still and calculating eyes he reminds you of a chameleon, clearly having done enough to blend in and get this far in the business, but with an air of having his own agenda about him too. You wonder as you look at him whether it’s one that you fit into. You look out through the floor to ceiling window behind him for a moment and let out a little breath as you take in London. Your head is almost buzzing with white noise, but you force yourself to try and be calm about all this. You’ll need to be if you have to fight for your job. 

 

“Ah,” Moriarty half stands up, attempting no doubt to give off an air of distraction as he shuffles some of the papers, but it’s not one that you buy into. You get the sense that Mycroft feels the same if the way that you catch him narrowing his eyes is anything to go by. 

 

Still, the auburn-haired judge and you meet him on the other side of the desk like subjects coming forward as one to meet their King and Mycroft shakes his hand. “It’s a pleasure to see you again Sir,” Mycroft says. Moriarty nods at him, giving one firm shake of his hand, before he moves on to you. 

 

“Nice to see you Sir,” you say as his cold hand grasps at yours. You suppress a shiver. His eyes seem to dance with something as he looks at you and your heart feels like it’s being squeezed by an iron fist, but in the next moment you wonder if you’d imagined such a thing because when James Moriarty lets go of your hand and sits down he looks cool and calm and anything but intense. He waves a casual hand for Mycroft and you to take up the two blue and very uncomfortable looking seats that are in front of his desk. 

 

Mycroft and you do so and for a few moments there’s some shuffling about and rustling as Mycroft draws his suit jacket tighter around himself and brushes down his legs. You meanwhile feel too afraid to move all that much and your hands lock together upon your lap as your eyes fix on Moriarty once more. His eyes glimmer as they dart between Mycroft and you. Your heart rate increases as you expect him to say something, but for moment after moment he doesn’t and your fear of getting sacked only worsens. 

 

“There’s no need to look so afraid,” he finally says with an Irish lilt, sounding amused. You let out a little breath. Mycroft’s hands twitch. Moriarty’s smile widens, but there is something sinister about it, like the clown from a nightmare rather than that of a friend. “I’ve called you both here to congratulate you.” In a sudden fit of activity he crosses his legs, swoops forwards and takes one of Mycroft and your hands in turn again, grasping at them and covering the top of them with his like some pleased pastor for several moments, before he lets go of them and leans back again. Mycroft and you, feeling discomfited, half-look at each other enough to ascertain that neither of you knows what he’s on about. “I really think, and Seb here agrees”-he gestures at the man next to him-“That the pair of you have really hit on something here.” Mycroft and you look at each other, both wearing looks of serious confusion, before you look back at Moriarty once more. “Oh, no need to be shy. Usually I’d be mad about people doing things without my permission, but I can’t be here. Not when it works so well. When did you make the decision?” He looks between you both. “Perhaps after the photo shoot? Stamford mentioned something about there being an energy between you when I passed him in the corridor.” Mycroft and you look at each other once more. Still not understanding. “You do get what I mean don’t you?” Moriarty asks, sounding less enthusiastic now. “About the way you’ve created a spark between you, which can be developed into a will they-won’t they romance?” Mycroft’s head and yours both snap back to him. You’re wearing an open look of horror upon your face, whilst Mycroft still looks taken aback but manages to keep his thoughts of revulsion in check. “Yes, such a good idea, the ratings will go through the roof and it sorts out what we discussed before too,” Moriarty nods at Mycroft happily.

 

Mycroft feels a sinking sensation in his stomach. He’d gone to see Moriarty after the photo shoot. Said that he felt a little concerned about being overlooked this year, but he hadn’t wanted this. How he’s regretting that conversation now. 

 

_“Sir,”_ you begin, mind fully focused on the proposition, and Mycroft sends you a distinct look of warning. He senses that whatever you’re about to say won’t be the most well thought through of things. 

 

_‘Yes?’_ Moriarty mouths as he looks at you and him speaking silently is almost more alarming than the alternative. 

 

“I-I want the show to do well like anyone else, of course I do, but I think you’ve got the wrong end of the stick here”- you break off when Moriarty’s face darkens. 

 

“What F/N means to say Sir,” Mycroft hurriedly gets in and your face sours because you are perfectly capable of speaking for yourself and you do not need him to do so for you. “Is that our argument the other night was not acting, there was no great tête-à-tête where we decided to stage it for publicity or the enjoyment of others. That was the pair of us having a completely honest debate.”

 

“I see,” Moriarty says, unfolding his legs and looking displeased. He shifts forwards and his hands lie flat on the table over some papers for a minute, before he lifts them again and settles back, deep in his chair. “Well, an expectation’s been created now”-

 

“No one knows”- you begin and Mycroft looks at you forebodingly again.

 

“Don’t they?” Moriarty asks you sharply, sounding intrigued by your viewpoint now as his eyes fix completely on you and he leans forwards. A muscle twitches in Mycroft’s jaw and you swallow. “There might be a lot of ordinary people out there who don’t think Miss. L/N, but I assure you that there are a lot who do and who, through the use of social media will be able to piece together the fact that, that line in the column came out barely days after the first show had been filmed and who know, because of you being our new judge, that there could be a bit of friction during the settling in period.” 

 

“That’s all it was Sir, j-just a misunderstanding,” you look at Mycroft uncertainly, before you look at your boss again. “There won’t be any more occurrences as I'm sure you want the focus to remain on the contestants in the competition.”

 

Moriarty’s eyes flash angrily. You swallow. “I think _you’re_ the one who’s not getting my meaning Miss L/N. I have just told you”-Moriarty enunciates clearly-“That I am happy with the direction this is taking, whether it was planned or not. But now I have declared such a thing it _will_ go ahead.” He says his words forcefully and you suddenly feel breathless and trapped. 

 

You stand up, suddenly feeling out of control and like you have to get out of there. “I am not going to be anyone’s puppet Sir. I have my own mind and with the greatest of respect I just want to be me during the duration of this competition.” 

 

Moriarty stands up and Mycroft quickly follows suit. “Do not disappoint and make me regret having you on this show Miss. L/N,” your boss says as you stand there with your heart racing. 

 

You swallow, before your mouth drops open. But before you can make your response you feel a sudden pressure on your arm. You look down to see that Mycroft’s now clutching at it. When you look back up at him it’s to find that his eyes are on you and that he’s wearing an almost pleading expression upon his face as if he’s begging you not to speak again. 

 

His head turns to look at Moriarty and his gaze becomes a level one. “If that is all Sir then I think it would be best if we leave. You can count on me to ensure that what you want gets carried out.” Your mouth opens all the wider, but you only let out a bit of a squeak when Mycroft’s grip increases on your arm, his fingers now pinching at your skin. 

 

“I knew that I could rely on you Mr. Holmes,” Moriarty says in a greasy fashion, before he looks at you in an amused way. “Yes, you’re free to depart,” he nods and you scowl. 

 

But you’re letting out a protesting breath a moment later when Mycroft drags you out of there. “Stop-let go-are you sleeping with him?” you ask as the door flutters shut behind you. You don’t know where the words had come from. You’d just blurted them out. 

 

Mycroft makes a sound of impatience. “Come, _come.”_ He tugs you, ignoring your muttered words and your attempts to free yourself. He pulls you around the corner and ends up pushing you against the wall in between a door and a tall potted plant. You wince and rub at your arm as he lets go of you. A tall, smartly dressed woman on her way past you with a folder sends you both a look of enquiry. Mycroft waits until she’s gone and looks both ways, making sure that you’re now alone, before his head snaps back to you and he says with angry eyes, “Of course I'm not sleeping with him. I just know how to play the game and you’d do well to learn it too if you want to keep this job”-

 

“Of course I want to keep this job”-

 

“Then listen to what I'm about to tell you very carefully,” he says, placing his face inches from yours. You swallow. “James Moriarty has clearly decided, for the sake of money and ratings that this is the way he wants this year’s show to play out. With us acting as entertainment and a focus point in between the couples dancing. Now, I don’t know how he fell upon that idea, perhaps its been forming ever since he had that conversation with Stamford and I want you to be aware that, that would have not happened as he said it did. He would not have bumped into Stamford so casually and been told that. He would have invited the man into his office and interrogated him about it. In any case I don’t want to go down that route any more than you do, believe me. But if it is what he wants then for the sake of our jobs we must go along with it.” You open your mouth. How can he be so calm about this option? About carrying out an idea that must repulse him? “You think that he will not get what he wants one way or another?” Mycroft asks, looking more desperate now and keeping his voice lower still. “James Moriarty has got this whole corporation and the whole world beyond that mapped out. He carries the title Executive Producer but really he’s so much more than that. Why do you think he’s got his own office? Also you might not be aware of this but he’s a very close friend with the newspaper magnate Magnussen. If we do not give him what he wants then he will use such contacts to destroy us bit by bit and neither you nor I will work on this show or any other ever again.” 

 

Something on the inside of you feels like it’s trembling and you wonder if you’ve made a massive mistake in signing up to this show. “No one should have that much power,” you say, and you feel annoyed with yourself at how hushed your voice sounds. 

 

“He’s got everyone in his pocket and now and again, when he’s bored and feeling like something could do with a shake-up, he brings out whoever he chooses and makes them do a little dance upon his desk. It is our turn now.”

 

You swallow. “I”-

 

Suddenly Mycroft hears a sound, a tread of footsteps that sound familiar to him and his hands go to your waist, clamping there. You let out a whoosh of breath and you’ve just made to remove his hands, which are causing your body to tingle all over when none other than James Moriarty comes around the corner. 

 

“Glad to see that you’re getting along,” he says with a delicious smile to Mycroft. 

 

“Yes Sir,” Mycroft says, rubbing at your waist tentatively and trying to ignore how it is like putting his hands close to a fire and risking the dancing sparks burning them, as you clutch at his hands there still. 

 

Moriarty gives you a look of amusement that you don’t like, before he goes on his way again. 

 

Mycroft lets go of you and steps back as soon as he’s gone. “We must go along with this. Not for our own sakes, but for his.”

 

You shake your head. “I will not be anyone’s puppet.”

 

“Then you will not last very long here,” Mycroft says. He begins to move away, but you clutch at his arm. He looks back at you. 

 

“I don’t get how you can be so calm about this,” you tell him, “We've just been called in and basically told that we have to do something that we don’t want just to keep our jobs.” 

 

Mycroft swallows. The sensible part of him, the part, which doesn’t like lines to be blurred, would agree with you and resist the idea until the end of the time. But one side of him feels relieved and almost grateful for Moriarty giving him this excuse to explore the odd feelings that you’ve stirred inside him. Perhaps this way he can get rid of them and still keep his job? He can’t tell you that however, so as he comes out of his thought and his eyes fix on you again he says, “I can be collected about this because I know how this job works. I know what is required of me.” 

 

As you let go of him you still don’t look satisfied. “Why are you doing this?” you ask. “Giving me this advice? Telling me how things have to be? Or is this just a part of some other plan that you’ve got with Moriarty that I don’t know about? Some plan that you came up with when you went to see him before? Just how many times _do_ you meet up with him?” 

 

“That is of no consequence, but you must listen to what I’ve said.” You look uncertain and remembering about what you’d said in the dressing room about not everyone being able to have his self-confidence it occurs to Mycroft to say, “I am doing it because I was new too once.” He departs. 

 

You watch after him searchingly, not knowing what to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: We find out more about Mary and an interesting conversation between Mycroft and you takes place at the BBC bar.


	3. Eyes Like What They See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary complicates things and Mycroft tries to work out how he can get you to go along with Moriarty's plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to make it clear that the main pairing in this will be Mycroft/Reader. I've tried to do the relationship tags to show that, but it seems determined to list them in the order shown. Anyway...enjoy. :)

You’re still feeling thoughtful and a little worried about everything that Saturday when your mother comes around to watch the launch show with you. 

 

As soon as the theme music kicks in she grabs at your hand as you sit there together on the brown leather settee facing the wide screen TV in the pale rose coloured living room and squeezes at it. 

 

She gasps and mutters, “Oh my baby,” as they play the footage of you from the red carpet event [thankfully they don’t show a clip from your interview with Kitty Riley] but when you rise up from the floor with all the other judges she lets out a piercing shriek that threatens to permanently deafen your left ear and has you both wincing and grinning at the same time. Suddenly you find yourself focusing on the fun of the show and the positives of it rather than what might be the shady agendas of its workers. Whilst when you take to the floor with Bruno and then take your place behind the judges desk it’s like your mum turns into an excited five-year-old who cannot get her words out fast enough as she points at you on the TV. You smile. It’s nice to see how much this means to her and more than that to have been able to make her this happy in the first place. 

 

As the show properly begins she settles down, but just after the VT footage of Molly has ended she lets out a bit of a breath when she sees your face in the background of where Tess is introducing the couples to each other. “Ooh, look at that scowl you’ve got upon your face. Whatever’s that in aid of? You look scarier than Mycroft,” she says. 

 

You see that she’s got a point, although Mycroft’s also wearing a very tight expression upon his face and as you remember about what had happened between you both around that time you attempt to brush it off with, “Oh, Mycroft was just being a twat.” You don’t want her to know about anything else like the backstage spat or the fact that you’d been called in to see James Moriarty and his right-hand man Sebastian Moran. Definitely don’t want her to worry that your new job might be at risk. You think once more about the words that Mycroft had said after that most strange of meetings. You've been thinking about them a lot. Thinking about how you would have expected him to have more of a backbone and be less willing to go along with something that he didn't want to, but also thinking about who might have tipped the paper off in the first place. Had it been Moriarty or someone else? You know in your heart that it wouldn't have been Bruno, and though Mycroft’s callous you don’t think it was him from the strange way that he’d acted at the meeting, although you will have to keep more of an eye on his behaviour if he’s truly decided to try and go along with what Moriarty wants. That leaves Sally, Mary and Irene unless it was one of their assistants. To be honest you don’t like suspecting any of them, but out of the people you know a bit you’d say that the most likely candidate would be Irene. She’s always seemed a little mysterious and withdrawn. If anyone were acting on Moriarty’s behalf or out of some sort of hidden spite then you’d say it was her. Of course Sally and Mary could just be _pretending_ to be so friendly towards you…

 

Your mother taps at your hand, looking at your serious face worriedly. “It’s fine Mum,” you say as something sloshes inside your stomach. 

 

“You know?” she says, looking in between you and the TV. “Whenever I’ve watched Mycroft on this show in the past and seen the way that he acts he’s always reminded me of you.”

 

“Of _me?”_ you exclaim. 

 

Your mother nods, stroking at your hand a little. “Yes, he seems”-she struggles for a word- _“Thoughtful.”_ You swallow, not liking the comparison and the way that it sends your mind to the post-meeting chat that you’d had with Mycroft. You still can’t fathom the fact that he’d given you all that information just to be nice. None of his other behaviour has even indicated that he wants to be such a thing towards you. “Whatever’s going on between you and making you look the way you were just now, don’t give up on him okay honey? I think he’s more like you than you know and I wouldn't want anyone to ever give up on you,” she says that last part with a bit of a smile upon her face and you nod tentatively, still feeling unsure about the whole thing. 

 

Your mother’s words and the whole situation rotate in your head that night and Midnight finally leaps off your bed because of your restlessness, but you soon carry on with your non-Strictly life and feel grateful for the break away from it all as the celebrities begin their training. 

 

You hardly think about Mycroft or the situation again until the _‘RadioTimes’_ feature on the show gets released and you see that they've used the photo where you’ve got one leg up on the chair, almost confronting Mycroft as Bruno and Len react to it in the background on the front cover. As happy as you are to be on the front of such a prestigious TV guide you can’t help but wonder if it had been Moriarty who’d made sure that, that photo was the one that was used and you feel uneasy about everything again. The title, _‘There’s a new judge in town and no one’s safe,’_ doesn’t exactly do wonders for stopping that either. As the past few days had drifted by it had been easy to start to think that you’d just get on with things the best that you could and deal with any problems as they occurred, but now you’re being reminded of everything and of how difficult it might be to do the show. Your mum on the other hand, oblivious to all this drama, ends up buying copies of every single TV magazine and newspaper that feature you. Sometimes even multiple ones. ‘Why do you need more than one copy of the same thing?’ you’d asked her. ‘So I can send them to family and stick them up everywhere,’ had been her reply as if you should have known such a thing. You’d rolled your eyes, but tried to keep your moodiness and the urge to rip up her pile of clippings to yourself. That hadn’t stopped you from seeing Moriarty’s face in your mind every time you’d seen anything relating to the show though. 

 

*

 

Still, after a bit more gap you settle down again. That is until it’s time to go in early on the Friday that kicks off the start of the special double show that will be happening across the next two days. You feel anxious because of things properly starting. But trying not to be you say hello to everyone, offer some words of encouragement to Molly-who looks delighted in response-as you pass her in the corridor and get on with running through everything and the preparations that you need to do for the night. 

 

You’re excited to have your own dressing room-you’ve even put a photo of your mother inside it, so that it leans against the mirror there and sorted out some mixed nuts and fruit like bananas and apples that you can snack on later. You send a photo of your name on the door of it to your mum who sends many exclamation marks in response. You also send it to Lysandra. But instead of going back to your dressing room when you’re dismissed for the moment you linger where the audience would usually sit, trying to imagine the crowd that will be there tonight and the atmosphere. It makes you feel both a little excited and nervous like you had before the launch show, but the live element to tonight’s show makes you feel doubly so. 

 

You don’t see how Mycroft, on the stage close to the orchestra pit, is watching you intently wondering if Moriarty’s plan will begin to get under way tonight? Now you’ve had a chance to get over the initial shock of everything perhaps it will. That’s if you’re not going to be stubborn about it, which he senses might unfortunately be the path you’ve chosen to go down. 

 

You send: _You’ll never guess where I am now;_ to your mum, before you slip your phone away again. 

 

“Mary,” Mycroft says in acknowledgement as the blonde-haired woman steps beside him. He continues to watch you, but Mary’s eyes go to John who had been setting up camera shots with Sherlock, but who now seems distinctly distracted by your presence. 

 

Your phone buzzes a moment later. _I don’t want to guess, I want to know,_ is what your mum’s sent and you let out a loud chuckle. You love this side of things. 

 

“Hey,” John’s voice says and you look up with a smile to see that he’s on the edge of the floor right in front of you and wearing a white t-shirt. He’s got a warm looking cream-coloured knitted jumper wrapped around his waist and he’s also sporting black combat trousers. You can see his well-defined muscles through his top and he’s got his camera focused on you. “What’s it like being a Strictly judge?”

 

Mycroft and Mary both stiffen as they watch the encounter. 

 

You stand up and lower your phone as you say playfully, “Oh, you know, so-so,” you give a bit of a shrug. 

 

“Yeah,” John grins, “It must be such a drag having to wear nice outfits and not even having the pressure of dancing. You can just lord it over everyone else”-

 

Sherlock glides suddenly towards you, pushing his camera on a stand. He stops beside John. “Might I care to remind you John that F/N’s not my brother and he’s the only one who enjoys _lording_ it over everyone.” He turns his glittering eyes on you and with his tousled dark curls, prominent cheekbones and the slight glistening of sweat on his collarbone above his white t-shirt, the denim jacket he’s got tied around his waist and his navy trousers you can’t help but notice not for the first time that on the whole he’s a very attractive man and unlike with his brother you don’t feel a surge of irritation whenever you look at him. His lip quirks upward and as if he’s sensing some of your thoughts he asks, “Do you enjoy working with my brother F/N?”

 

Your lips part slightly and you touch at your hair awkwardly with your hand. How are you supposed to answer that? Diplomacy calls for a firm, ‘Yes,’ but your heart on the other hand…

 

Mary meanwhile recovers a little from seeing you interact with John now that Sherlock’s also on the scene and says, “It was me who tipped the paper off about the argument that F/N and you had. If you’re wondering.”

 

 _“Oh?”_ Mycroft tears his eyes away from you and looks at her. He’d been wondering about this matter in between thinking about ways to mollify you if you should still need it and though he’d placed Mary high up on his list of suspects he hadn’t expected her to just come out with it all the same. 

 

“Yes,” Mary swallows; looking at him also. Her eyes grow more serious. “He heard Sally talking about it with one of her assistants. Then he called me in. Told me what _he_ wants.” Mycroft doesn’t need to ask who the ‘he,’ she’s referring to is. “But it seems like our newest member doesn’t seem to realize just how serious that is.” She looks at you for a moment, before she looks back at Mycroft who’s staring at her out of eyes that are both wary and calculating. “I could help you though. In fact I think we should work together, so that we can both get what we want.” Mycroft’s brow furrows. Mary swallows and glances at John. Suddenly everything becomes clearer to Mycroft. “I can help stop F/N looking at other directions and get her to look at you instead, which”-

 

“Which would leave the path to John Watson free for you and help me to keep my job,” he interrupts her coolly. 

 

“Correct,” she nods, wondering if they have a deal now. 

 

Mycroft answers that question a moment later when he says, “But I do not think that is the route that F/N wants to go down.” He looks at you again. “As you must appreciate in your quest for John it takes two to Tango.” He looks back at Mary now. 

 

“Which is why I would do anything I could to”-

 

“No,” he interrupts her again, “I work alone and I will keep my own job without help from the likes of you. I understand that you might have your own genuine selfish reasons for this proposal, which would no doubt help spur you on to its completion, but you are an ex-journalist after all and a shoddy one at that.” Mary turns to him more, almost daring him to go on and reveal her life story with her eyes. He can’t resist doing so. “Oh don’t worry I’m not about to say that you got fired after Magnussen had no choice when all the phone hacking you’d done got made public and then he pushed you into Moriarty’s path. Oops.” Mary looks at him in irritation. “That was the most he could do for you of course. Then Moriarty took you under his wing and now you owe him too much. Forgive me if I do not trust you, but I can’t. Not when something so important is at stake.”

 

“Do you mean the job or her?” Mary asks him slyly and he looks at her in annoyance. “I’ve seen the way you look at her. She intrigues you,” she says.

 

“If I end up rescuing both our jobs then it will only be because I selfishly want to keep my own and not because I have sacrificed any part of myself to do so. I am not on the path to love Mary Morstan, I am simply trying to protect my career,” and with that he swoops down the steps and onto the floor as he catches his brother shaking the camera from side to side and you giggling. “Please don’t lower yourself to my brother’s standard F/N,” he says, stopping once he’s a little bit away from you all, “You’re not much better but you are better than that.” Mary snorts as she watches him. He might have convinced himself that he’s just an ambitiously career-minded man and that he harbours no feelings for you, but if that’s the case then why had he decided to leave her just as another man was making you laugh? 

 

You turn your head. You don’t see the way that Sherlock’s lip twitches unpleasantly at the sight of Mycroft standing there in a light blue shirt that has its top two buttons undone because you’re too busy not trying to look at his chest hair. You only let your eyes graze against it, before you take in his dark trousers and smart shoes instead. All the other judges, including you, are more dressed down today considering that you’ll be doing a lot of hanging around, before tonight’s big show, but you don’t feel surprised by the fact that Mycroft’s only taken things this far. You can’t imagine him in casual clothes. It would be like seeing Midnight turn into a dog. He’s got his hands in his pockets as if he’s trying to affect an air of casualness, but his shoulders appear to be stiff and you wonder again what his game is. 

 

“He does so love to be childish,” he tells you in reference to his brother. 

 

“Must be a family trait,” you return coolly. 

 

“Yes, what are you doing here Mycroft?” Sherlock asks impatiently. 

 

“I work here”- Mycroft begins, his tone full of exasperation. 

 

“And yet usually you’re quite happy to stick to the cave of your dressing room unless you have to,” Sherlock raises an eyebrow at him. 

 

Since Mycroft’s hands are in his pockets you miss the way that they clench at his brother’s words, fisting onto the fabric there. “Yes,” he says, and you might be mistaken, but you swear that as his eyes roam over everyone they linger on you for a fraction longer than they do on anyone else. You tense up, hoping that he’s not thinking about Moriarty’s plan. “It’s true that I find the solitary confinement soothing,” he says, “But I thought it prudent of me to make sure that our new judge wasn’t making a nuisance of herself and lo and behold”- he breaks off and waves a hand at you. 

 

You flush and your lips pull downward. He always has to pick on you and make you feel small. As if you’re an idiot just because you’re new to things. Well if Moriarty wants you to flirt with him just to entertain the masses then he’s got another thing coming. Mycroft might seem keen to go along with it for God knows what reason, but you’re not. 

 

“Yes, I'm sure that you find happiness a nuisance,” Sherlock says with a bit of a bite to his tone, “But the rest of us”-he gestures a hand out from himself to John and you-“Have no such qualms and want to enjoy ourselves.”

 

It’s Mycroft’s turn for his lips to move down and still feeling annoyed you huff out a breath and make to move past him. 

 

His eyes roam down to the phone that you’re clasping to your leg as you do so. He feels a flicker of distaste. Who have you been in contact with? He knows it’s ridiculous, he’s already told himself that if you had a boyfriend he’d probably know by now, but still he can’t help but feel angry because of the possibility. Still, he decides to come at it from another angle when he says, “I hope you haven’t been posting anything revealing on your Twitter page or elsewhere Miss. L/N? This show has a very strict secrecy policy, which you should already be aware of from the contract that you signed.”

 

“Just been texting my mum actually, and yes, I'm fully aware of what I signed up to,” you tell him coolly, meeting his gaze. 

 

As he takes you in Mycroft can tell that you’re only just realizing exactly what you’ve signed up to, but you’re determined for him to not know just how much its thrown you. Well unfortunately for you he can see it all too clear. A flash of a memory enters his mind of Moriarty and himself in the former’s office and for a moment he feels sorry for you. You’re still so pathetically naïve. You’d probably thought that this job would be like a fun holiday. 

 

You _are_ thinking about the surprise you’d had and the anger you feel about trying to be coerced into a relationship that you do not want just for publicity, but you’re also thinking about how you had been tempted to put the dressing room photo that you’d sent your mum and Lysandra up on Twitter, before you’d remembered about the no photos policy. You feel irked that Mycroft had correctly stumbled upon the fact in his quest to try and get a rise from you. Determined to not give him any more than you have already you finish moving past him. 

 

“I thought that you had more fight in you F/N?” The words slip out of Mycroft without him being able to help it and he’s doing such a thing for himself now and not for Moriarty. 

 

“I do,” you whirl around, “I just have things that I’d rather be doing in my time than arguing with you,” and with that you turn back and head off again, leaving Mycroft gazing after you. He frowns as he wonders how he can possibly convince you to go along with Moriarty’s plan. Why are you so against it anyway? Are you just being stubborn or is there something more to it all? 

 

*

 

When you return to your dressing room just to take a moment alone, before you go on that night in your dark blue dress, navy painted nails and chignon hair you’re surprised to find that there’s a big bouquet of voluptuous white flowers waiting for you by the mirror and dressing table that’s directly in front of you. The dark green leaves splay out prettily in the blue pot that they've been placed in. You see a white card resting on one of the leaves in the middle and you go towards it curiously. On it is a single kiss and you smile down at it for a moment, before you feel one of the pliable and slightly damp leaves in between two of your fingers. 

 

A moment later a voice says, “They’re from the both of us.” You turn to see that Bruno and Len are standing in the entranceway of the dressing room with Bruno keeping the door open with one of his hands. Both of them are wearing dark suits with white shirts though Bruno’s is undone, whilst Len is buttoned up with a dark tie and they've got soft smiles upon their faces. Bruno’s face turns a little more serious though as he says, “We wanted you to be fully aware, after what happened before”-your heart lets out a bit of a pang-“That the pair of us feel that you belong here. We welcome you, as do the majority of people working here and we wanted to tell you not to lack confidence either. Be as big and beautiful as those flowers my darling.”

 

You let out a bit of a breath and feel a swelling of emotion run through you at the gesture. “Thank you,” you go towards them and place a hand on each of their shoulders. They both peck a light kiss into your cheeks. 

 

“Some of us think you’re lovely,” Len breathes. 

 

“Lovely suits me just fine,” you smile in a firm way as you pull back from each other. 

 

“Ready?” Bruno asks, his hands on your shoulders and his brown eyes steady as they latch upon yours. 

 

You let out a little breath and your eyes become determined. “Yes.” 

 

You exit the dressing room together, completely missing how Mycroft gazes at you all from further down the corridor, watching your easy interaction with the other two and listening as you even let out a soft tinkling of laughter. You've never done that or looked that way with him and his stomach feels tight because of the fact. It would be so much easier to do what Moriarty wants if the pair of you were friends or if you liked him at least. As he peers into your now empty dressing room a few moments later, holding the door ajar slightly, he feels something sad within him as he sees the flowers and the card with its single kiss. 

 

 _‘They should have come from you. How are you ever going to get her on side if you’re not making all the right moves, huh? Huh?’_ Moriarty’s voice seems to say into his ear, even though the man himself isn't there.

 

“I don’t know,” Mycroft growls angrily to no one and his stomach seems to swirl all the more with anxiety. What on earth’s he going to do if he can’t convince you? It’s not an option he tells himself. He will do it. He must. 

 

When the camera catches sight of Len, Bruno and you walking towards the double doors that lead to the studio with smiles upon your faces it’s in much contrast to Mycroft’s much more serious expression when he passes it just a few moments later.

 

*

 

The theme tune sets off fireworks in your stomach and when Tess and Claudia introduce you and you go out, doing a little twirl with Len this time, before you make your way to sit down you feel more excited than anxious about anything that’s happening behind the scenes. 

 

But that soon changes when Mycroft murmurs out of the corner of his mouth, “Mary Morstan is dangerous,” from his place beside you. 

 

 _“What?!”_ you practically exclaim, looking at him. What on earth is he going on about and why is he telling you this now when you’re just about to start your first live show? 

 

Mycroft’s eyes dart everywhere, before he looks at you. “She’s the one who tipped the paper off. She told me earlier today,” he says, hoping that him confiding in you might lead to you being more willing to carry the plan out. Your mouth drops open. “She did so because she’s too much in Moriarty’s pocket. He rescued her from oblivion. She owes him. But she partly thinks that you’re after John Watson too”-

 

“What?” you hiss. “I'm not after anyone, I”-

 

“Quiet,” Mycroft warns, “I just told you because you need to know what the situation is.”

 

You swallow, but are forced to concentrate and try and not get lost in your swirling thoughts as the show properly begins. 

 

Greg’s first up doing a Tango and the VT clip shows him struggling in training. “I just can’t remember any of the steps, they won’t go in,” he says as his silver hair gets increasingly messier and the dark brown top he’s wearing with grey jogging bottoms gets sweatier. 

 

“Greg’s really hard on himself,” Janette says as the clip goes on to show Greg getting increasingly frustrated with himself as he goes wrong and her urging him to continue and not get too carried away with what he’s done incorrectly. 

 

The clip ends with Greg saying, “Yeah, I'm really worried,” as he tilts his head, runs a hand over his stubble covered jaw and looks at the camera with those chocolate eyes of his. 

 

As everyone’s attention turns to the studio once more a single spotlight shines on the middle of the floor where Greg and Janette are standing. Greg’s in a dark suit with a red pocket-handkerchief. He’s got his hair slicked back, whilst Janette is in a fiery red dress that’s stuck tightly to her body, shining with glitter. Greg stands behind her with his body tight with tension and his arms taut and swung back. As soon as _‘Pata Ancha’_ by _Osvaldo Pugliese-_ starts he swings Janette towards him and you let out a breath, thinking that Greg’s already showing more energy and drive than you’d expected him to. He seems to steer Janette quite well too, which is a rather demanding thing to be expecting from a male celebrity at this stage of the competition and as the dance goes on you get caught up in it all, almost forgetting that you’re supposed to be judging and writing things down. But as Bruno half-stands up so that he can see better, Mycroft scrawls down quick notes in between looking up on your right and Len takes a more reserved but nonetheless focused approach you copy him and try to do the same, looking at the dance in a professional manner, whilst you try and form the comment that you’ll be saying later. Every now and again you write down a small note, but you don’t do anywhere near as many as Mycroft, and by the time the dance is finished you’re holding your pen loosely in your hand. 

 

“Relieved?” Tess says when Greg joins her after the dance. He nods, whilst Janette puts a supportive arm around him. “You did a really good job. Whilst you get your breath back let’s welcome our Strictly singers Tommy, Andrea, Hayley and Lance and Dave Arch and his fabulous, fabulous orchestra.” There’s a ripple of light applause. “Now,” she says, looking at the judges, before she looks back at Greg again, “Let’s get what will hopefully be the worst out of the way first shall we?” She cringes. _“Mycroft?”_ she looks at him sternly with bated breath. 

 

Mycroft-wearing a dark suit with a black tie and white shirt-does a little clearing of his throat and looks most serious as he half lifts his notes up with his fingers. “I'm afraid that for me it was a rather poor attempt,” he says. Your face falls and the audience makes admonishing noises. “Your posture was appalling,” he goes on, “Your posterior was sticking out the whole way through”-

 

“I disagree,” you say without being able to help yourself. You hear an intake of breath go around the studio and suddenly realizing what you’ve done and that you’ve just played right into James Moriarty’s hands without being able to help it your eyes go back to Tess. 

 

“Uh oh they've started,” Bruno can’t stop himself from saying as he half laughs nervously, before he slaps his hands comically over his mouth. 

 

 _“F/N?”_ Tess urges you to go on. 

 

You let out a little breath and keep your head turned in between Mycroft and Greg as you go on, “Your posture fell one or two times yes, but there were long moments where it was perfect.” The audience gives an encouraging clap and spurred on by that and Greg’s brighter eyes you add, “You started off the dance with drive and kept that energy up the whole way through. You took the lead, which is not an easy thing for a male celebrity to do, especially coming out first and you covered up the mistakes that you made well. If you just build on all of those things then you’ll do absolutely fine.”

 

“Thank you F/N for those encouraging words,” Tess smiles, looking from you to Greg in a pleased fashion as she puts a hand on his back. He looks at you with grateful eyes. You nod a little tersely at him. 

 

Tess is just about to move onto Bruno to get his opinion when Mycroft says, “Nonetheless I find it hard to believe that if that’s all you can come up with after weeks of training then you’re not going to go backwards with just one,” he finishes his words with a flourish. 

 

You feel a sudden burst of anger. How dare Mycroft be so demeaning when Greg’s nervous enough as it is! But before you can retort and your free hand can do anything more than clench Bruno says, “Hush Mycroft, it’s my turn now. I agree with F/N”-he points at Greg-“You definitely have potential to go a long way in this competition.” The audience gives another encouraging clap. “I think what it is,” Bruno says, leaning back consideringly, “Is that since it’s such an early stage still your mind is very much focused on learning all the steps and on remembering what comes next, so once you start learning things a bit quicker and feel more confident with it all the posture and the rest of that will come.” Greg nods, taking everything in. 

 

“Again another good comment,” Tess says, “Len?” she prompts tentatively. 

 

“Well don’t listen to Mr. Miserable at the end of the panel there,” Len says, waving a dismissive hand and causing the audience to let out a chuckle. You fight back a smile as Mycroft shifts beside you. “Because you my son are a dancer.” The audience really like that. Mycroft doesn’t. He sniffs. “You had that sharp, staccato movement going on from the beginning. You were giving it plenty of welly, which is what I like to see and with a bit more work like they said you could go far.” The audience clap, but Len’s not finished yet. “I think you should approach this like you would a football game”-Greg’s eyes widen slightly-“All the training, all the eating right that goes with that? Focus on what helps build up your stamina so you can keep that posture going.” Greg nods at him. 

 

But before there can be any verbal response from the footballer Bruno says, “Ooh, that’s a good idea.” Len gives him a bit of a look and Bruno claps a hand over his own mouth. “Getting carried away,” he mumbles. The audience laughs.

 

Greg gets whisked upstairs by Janette to speak to Claudia, whilst the rest of the judges and you tap in what scores you’ll be giving so that they can appear digitally on the paddles that you’ll be holding up. 

 

“Ladies and gentleman. The judges have their scores,” comes the announcer’s voice. “Mycroft Holmes.”

 

“Four,” Mycroft reveals crisply, holding up a paddle and you turn your head to look at him angrily. You’d been expecting him to give a low score, but that’s even less than you’d dared think. You’d been expecting a five. The audience hiss. 

 

You’re still fuming when the announcer says, “F/N L/N.”

 

“Seven,” you say clearly, turning to look straight down the camera that John’s operating in front of you. He gives you an encouraging look and the audience let out a rush of pleased breaths, before they clap.

 

“Len Goodman.”

 

 _“Seven,”_ comes Len’s familiar voice and you smile. 

 

“And Bruno Tonioli.”

 

“Seven,” Bruno declares and feeling pleased you flap your paddle about and stretch it across in front of Len, so that you can almost do a high-five with Bruno’s. 

 

Mycroft frowns, feeling isolated and once more angry with you in his mind. He knows that Bruno’s gay and Len’s married, but why does _he_ have to be the one who has to have a relationship with you? Does Moriarty have any idea how difficult it is to persuade someone so independent and highly-strung that _you’re_ the one that they should be with? Even just as pretence? 

 

Vera Turner, in an orange and white dress and with her long and slightly curled brown hair hanging down in a three-strand plait is up next and you groan, thinking that Mycroft’s scores probably aren't going to get any better with her. She’s doing a Charleston-a fun and very characterized dance-but like Greg she struggles to pick up the steps and the training in the VT almost becomes a comedy in itself with Anton forcefully swinging her this way and that and plenty of water being drunk. 

 

She comes out and as the music, _‘Anything Goes’_ by _Cole Porter_ starts she goes wrong almost instantly, turning away from Anton when she should be turning towards him. You wince, writing down a quick note, but Mycroft’s pen seems to be pattering on the page as quickly as rain drops in a storm next to you as he scribbles everything down. To be fair to Vera though she fails with such charm and with a smile upon her face that you can’t find it in you to get mad with her for constantly being one step behind Anton and for doing little to cover up her mistakes even if you wanted to. 

 

Mycroft however does not have that same issue. “Well, that went wrong,” he quips dryly, and you hate him in that moment for not trying to have more tact. 

 

“I know it did,” Vera says, her body hunched. Clearly she doesn’t want to hear whatever Mycroft’s got to say and you find that you agree with her. 

 

As usual though he carries on regardless. “The timing was off, there was no characterization, the transition in and out of the lifts was clunky, I don’t think you remembered a single step”-

 

“Now, that’s a bit harsh,” Anton says, stretching his long chin out and leaning back a little as he keeps an arm around Vera’s shoulders. The audience laughs appreciatively. 

 

“Do you want me to go on?” Mycroft asks. 

 

“No,” Tess says, pursing her lips and patting at Vera’s shoulder, “I think we’ll move on. Bruno?” she asks. 

 

“Well my darling you were flapping about so much I thought that you were going to take flight at one point,” the Italian says, standing up and mimicking her. Vera laughs and nods, wiping tears of understanding from her eyes. She knows that she’s done terribly and she’s not afraid to admit it. “I thought you were going to run off the floor.” A burst of laughter comes from the audience. “But seriously my darling,” Bruno says more gravely, sitting back down, “It was a bit of a mess wasn’t it?” Vera nods. “You know it was.”

 

“Len?” Tess moves on. 

 

“Well,” Len says, huffing out a bit of a breath and leaning back in his seat, “I think the problem here was that because this dance is so much to do with characterization that, that tripped you up and you couldn't decide whether to focus on that or on the steps and it all became a bit of a muddle really.” He pulls a bit of a face, flicking his pen across his notepad, before he looks up again. “I think next time-and you’re lucky I think that everyone gets to go through this week”-Vera nods-“Just focus on getting the routine down. The story and the character can come afterwards.”

 

“Good words of advice there from our head judge,” Tess says and Vera nods. “F/N?” the presenter looks at you. 

 

“Well,” you say, laying your pen down on the table and putting your palms face down there. The audience seems to be holding their breath. “Can I just say how fabulous and glamorous you look this evening?” you gesture at her. “I mean, come on, if I look like that at your age then I’ll be very happy”-

 

“Forgive me,” Mycroft says over the audience’s laughter, leaning back and Tess’s mouth becomes an ‘O.’ “But since when did this become _‘America’s Next Top Model?’”_ His words are full of distaste. 

 

“As I was saying”- you attempt to go on, your voice even. 

 

“Please tell me that you’re about to talk about Mrs. Turner’s dance ability-or lack thereof”-he gives a cruel smile-“And not about what she looks like, which is completely irrelevant?” he says in a cantankerous fashion. 

 

“It’s not irrelevant,” you say in frustration. 

 

He turns prominently towards you with cool eyes. “Well you were making it sound as if her looking good was some sort of consolation prize for her being hopeless. I am not going to score her more just because she’s scrubbed up well.” _‘Not like I did with you,’_ a voice in his mind hisses angrily. For in that moment and with all the worry he’s felt that day about not knowing what to do he wishes that you could just mean nothing to him. Wishes that not even those curious thoughts about how you look nice would fill his head. 

 

“If you look good then it makes you feel confident, it’s simple logic,” you retort. 

 

“And yet that simple logic,” Mycroft goes on, his voice full of venom, “Did not turn Vera Turner into a dancer”-

 

“Rome wasn’t built in a day”- you get in. 

 

“Indeed,” Tess says, before Mycroft and you can bicker any more and the pair of you just glare at one another for a moment with dark eyes, before you swing your heads deliberately away from the other, both of you making a little, ‘Humph,’ noise as you do so. You feel sure that Mycroft had argued with you just now in order to try and please Moriarty. You have no idea that he’d just had the same problem that you often have when you’re around him-an inability to keep quiet when one of you disagrees with the other. 

 

Instead, not understanding, the heat inside you continues to simmer, flaring up again when Mycroft gives Vera a two [you give her a six and Bruno and Len both give her a five] and as the next four couples dance until the show is brought to an end. [Molly and the rest of them will be dancing the following night.]

 

Once filming is finished and you’ve done your little, ‘Keep dancing,’ sway with Len by the judges desk you have your back turned and you miss the way that Mycroft’s eyes drop down to the exposed circle of flesh that’s on your upper back and then to your derrière in spite of himself. Bruno however doesn’t and when Mycroft’s eyes sense his gaze and rise to see that Bruno’s steady brown ones are upon him he hurriedly clears his throat and begins to make his way backstage. 

 

“Would you care for a drink my darling?” Bruno asks, peering around Len at you as the head judge and you let go of one another. 

 

You pull a bit of a face as you consider. All in all you think that you’d just quite like to go home and have a glass of red wine by yourself right now, before going to bed. Its been a very long day. “Oh I”- you say, about to let him down. 

 

“After you get out of that?” He nods to your dress. “And get yourself sorted? Just a quick one with Len and I to take the edge off things?”

 

You nod. If you’re going to have a bit of time to get your emotions under check and properly cool down then it doesn’t sound so bad. Besides, Bruno and Len have been good to you and you’d like to spend more time with them you think.

 

You head backstage, fully intending to go to your dressing room, but as you see the black rails that are full of clothes on the side of the corridor another thought pops into your head and full of a sudden determination you head to the make-up room. There you barely react to Sally’s smile or to her assistants as they look at you and search for Mary instead. You see her heading towards where Irene is at the bottom of the room, processing the clothes that have already returned on another black rail. You hurry forwards, clacking a little awkwardly against the floor in your heels. “Mary,” you call a little breathlessly, getting everyone’s attention. The blonde-haired woman stiffens, before she looks over her shoulder at you. “Can I have a word?” you ask. Mary nods and you don’t notice the look of intrigue that Sally and Irene shoot each other or the way that they both creep forwards to hear as Mary and you meet in the middle. Mary swallows and draws herself up as she looks at you. You suddenly feel clammy and uneasy. Your heart rate increases. But beginning the conversation you know that you must have you say, “I know what you did, and I just want to say that you didn't have to then and that you don’t have to again. Not for any reason. I don’t know how its come across to you, but I don’t have any feelings for John. He’s just a friend.”

 

A sudden burst of laughter gets your attention and you suddenly notice Sally lurking close by and pretending to put some of the make-up things away. She turns to look at Mary properly from beside one of the dressing tables. Then, having worked everything out, she says, “Oh Mary you didn't? You didn't just slip that to the press because of John?” 

 

“I'm not sure that she did it just because of that,” Irene says, stepping forwards. 

 

“You’re right, I didn't,” Mary says, stepping off to the side now and turning so that she can look at you all. Her eyes go to you. “I'm sorry for what I did, but you don’t understand why, none of you do.” You open your mouth. Mary’s eyes had been going to Irene, but they flick back to you again. “You don’t know what it’s like F/N,” she tells you, her voice almost pleading with you to understand, “You’re new and the rest of you just manage to get by. You’d all be fine if you lost your jobs, but I’d have to start completely over, get a new career. I’ve already been gifted this and I'm not going to be that lucky again.” You open your mouth, about to tell her that of course she’d be fine and that there must be other options for her out there. Seeing this she says, “I'm not F/N. You don’t get it. Maybe when you’ve been here a few more months you will, maybe then you won’t be so ridiculous and tell me that I don’t have to do the things that I do, but for now just stop looking at me with those eyes and giving me meaningless advice. Thank you.” With that she turns and strides out of the room. 

 

Your mouth opens and shuts and for a moment you just glance between Sally and Irene who wear studious expressions upon their faces as they stare at you. You turn and hurry off to get changed. 

 

Once you’ve done so and let your hair swoop down upon your shoulders you meet Bruno and Len in the corridor and head to the BBC bar. Cast in a blue glow to create a certain level of ambience and with its comfortable black seats and silver tables it should make you feel relaxed, but with your mind buzzing with what had just happened between Mary and you in the make-up room and you once more feeling uneasy about everything you can’t succumb to it. Not even now that your two favourite judges flank you. 

 

Just to make things worse though no sooner have you grabbed a table for four when Mycroft appears beside you in his version of the casual clothes that he’d been wearing earlier. “Am I invited too?” he asks, sounding as if he might pout if he gets turned away. 

 

Bruno’s eyes instantly go to you and you nod at him tersely. You don’t exactly want him to join you because you know that if he does then he’ll probably try to push Moriarty’s agenda through again, but it’s not like you can stop him from doing so either. The other judges are unaware of Moriarty’s plans and you’re reluctant to create any more tension. You’d just created enough in the make-up room and you still have to work with everyone. 

 

“Of course,” the Italian’s eyes go a little seriously to the auburn-haired man, “As long as F/N and you don’t end up killing one another. I don’t think the workers here want to be mopping up blood.” His eyes flick between the pair of you. 

 

“Oh, I'm sure we could hold a truce for five minutes,” Mycroft says with an indulgent smile at you that makes something stiffen inside yourself and something grow serious in his blue eyes. As if to show how sincere he is he offers you his hand. 

 

Knowing that he’s only doing and saying such a thing because of Moriarty you take it with a nod, letting out a bit of a breath when a spark like static electricity runs through you. It is a curious thing but the blue light seems to throw up the freckles on his hands, making them even more visible to your eyes. You swallow. This is one game that you’re determined you won’t be playing. 

 

“Good,” Bruno says as you let go of one another, “What is it that you’ll be wanting? I shall pay for this round.” Mycroft and Len announce their drinks, but before you can Bruno says, “F/N?” You look at him. “Perhaps you could help me collect the drinks?” You nod, sensing that he wants a private word with you though you don’t know why. You follow him to the silver bar, standing, whilst he sits on a stool. Once the barman- dressed completely in black with short sleeves and floppy brown hair-is occupied in getting your drinks and too busy to overhear, Bruno turns to look at you with a serious expression in his eyes. “Now,” he says, his legs dangling slightly and his arms resting upon the bar, “You remember what I told you about Kitty Riley being a snake before?” You nod. “Well he”- Bruno jerks his head back at where Mycroft’s conversing rather stiffly with Len-“Is one also.” Your lips part, about to tell him that you know such a thing already, but he quickly goes on, “I caught him checking you out earlier.” Your mouth opens even more at that and you turn your head to look at Mycroft, before you look back at Bruno again. “We were all looking at you. How could we not my darling when you were looking so beautiful?” A light blush graces your face. “But when you were dancing with Len at the end he gave you a full analysis. You get my meaning?”

 

You swallow and nod jerkily, thinking that you do and that you probably understand things a lot better than Bruno realizes that you do. “He only did that because of Moriarty,” you say in a low voice, looking around, before you look back at the Italian again. 

 

Something in Bruno’s face tenses and he turns towards you properly, his hands on his legs as he looks at you imploringly, “I'm not going to go against _his”-_ he raises his eyebrows at you meaningfully and you nod-“Ways, and I happen to think that you should adhere to them also if you want an easier life,” he says. You nod, but you can’t help but feel a little disappointed at Bruno following the status quo. Won’t anyone go against Moriarty? “But I happen to disagree with you that the little look Mycroft gave you earlier was just because of what our boss wants. He wishes for you to be together yes?” You nod. “Well then why, if Mycroft was acting just as you said he was to please our boss did he choose to do such a thing once filming had ended?”

 

You think about this for a moment. “It would have been enough to start to build things up gradually. The wider audience wouldn't have known, but an audience or crew member could have still spotted him doing so and it would have stirred things up more.” The look on Bruno’s face however makes you doubt the validity of the answer that you’ve just given. 

 

“I think the truth is that Mycroft’s taken on the role our boss wants him to play a little too much.” Your mouth opens and shuts at that. “I have never seen him behave in such a way around anybody,” Bruno goes on, “If you can find a way where you can keep our boss happy, but still be careful around Mycroft, because I do not know what his intentions are, then that is exactly what you should do. You understand?” He looks more serious than you have ever seen him. You nod. 

 

As your drinks arrive you help Bruno carry them back to the table. You pass Mycroft his and get a nod in return, before you slide in, so that you’re sitting opposite him and next to Len who’d stood up so that you could get in. Bruno takes his place next to the man he’d just warned you about and you wonder about his words again. In your head Mycroft is still very much acting the way he is because of Moriarty, but could Bruno be right? Could there be an ulterior motive? _‘I have never seen him behave in such a way around anybody.’_ What does that even mean? You frown in an aggravated fashion. 

 

“You seem lost in thought,” Mycroft murmurs, and you come back to life to see that he’s got his head slightly bent towards his glass and that the froth from his drink is bubbling away on his upper lip. Something shudders inside you and a jerk of breath escapes your lips when he swipes his tongue up to get the foam off. 

 

Bruno looks at you anxiously and Len looks uncertain. 

 

“No, not really,” you say, grabbing your glass of red wine and tugging it to your lips. You don’t want to think of the quickening of your heart or what you’d felt just now. All of that is exactly what Moriarty wants and you’re not going to give him such things. 

 

Bruno hurriedly starts up a conversation that has nothing to do with Mycroft, you or the show and Len takes it up keenly. You interject your own opinion sometimes, but more often than not your eyes keep going to Mycroft because you can feel that he’s almost constantly watching you. Bruno notices the interaction that’s between you and the conversation starts to die. 

 

“Well, I better be off,” Len says, having noticed the same thing. 

 

Bruno drains his glass and begins to get up and step out like Len’s just done. “Are you coming?” he looks back at you. 

 

You look from him to Mycroft. Mycroft gazes at you steadily in return. Where you’d once wanted to go home, fall into bed and try and forget the less pleasurable aspects of the night you now feel wide awake and as if you’d prefer to take advantage of this opportunity and try to find out more about Mycroft if you can. More importantly find out why he’s really so willing to take up the idea without protest and see if there could be anything in Bruno’s words at all. It feels hard for you to believe in such a thing, but you have to try and find out regardless, so you yourself can think more clearly about it. “I think I'm going to stay a bit longer,” you look back at Bruno. You miss the way that Mycroft looks relieved. Len nods. 

 

The Italian jerks his head forwards and you think that you detect that something about him is telling you to be careful as he bends down to place a quick kiss upon your cheek. “Goodnight then,” he says. 

 

“Night,” you murmur, watching how Bruno nods to Mycroft with rather serious eyes, before he departs. 

 

“I was staring to feel like a gooseberry there,” is the first thing that Bruno says when he catches up with Len with a bit of a shiver. 

 

Len looks at him sideways, before he glances over his shoulder at where Mycroft and you are now staring at one another. “I just hope that F/N knows what she’s doing,” he says and Bruno hums in dark agreement.

 

“You want another one?” Mycroft finally asks, half-breaking the eye contact, so that he can tap at the stem of your nearly empty wine glass. You nod and pull your bag up onto the seat, so that you can scramble about for some money. “I’ll get it,” Mycroft mutters, swooping out to the bar. 

 

You look after him curiously, again wondering about Bruno’s earlier words and all that you know about Mycroft so far. As if he senses you watching him Mycroft looks over his shoulder at you from where he’s leaning across one of the stools to the bar. You duck your head and quickly look away. It’s not quick enough for you to miss the slight smirk of satisfaction that appears on Mycroft’s face however and you can tell that he feels sure he’s slowly getting you on side all because you’d stayed instead of leaving. You feel that spark of irritation again and that keen desire to find out more than ever what exactly is fuelling Mycroft to go along with Moriarty’s plan. 

 

When he returns and puts your drink down, slipping in opposite you, you’ve barely said ‘Thank you,’ before you blurt out, “What’s going on? You make out like you’re better than everyone, but you’re just as quick as they all seem to be to keep Moriarty happy?” 

 

“I could ask you a similar question,” Mycroft says, eyeing you coolly, “Which would be why do you seem so reluctant to go along with the idea?” You shift your position and avoid his eyes. “You could just be stubborn”-you look back at him-“Although the way you reacted just now suggests otherwise, as does the fact that I think if it was merely you being mulish then such a thing would soon fade. Your excitement about getting this chance is plain-a little _too_ plain if you don’t mind me saying-for all to see.” 

 

Your lip twitches downward. Mycroft looks smug and that just motivates you all the more to say, “Bruno suggested that it might be because you’ve actually fallen for me. Although I don’t believe in such an idea. You’ve made every effort to live up to your nickname since I’ve joined the show. I don’t think it’s possible for you to feel such things.”

 

“Perhaps you’re simply trying right now to deflect from the fact that you already have a boyfriend? One that you’re trying to hide from the press? It could be that you doubt the strength of your relationship with him or perhaps you simply want to protect him?” 

 

“That’s where you’re wrong Mr. Holmes. I don’t have a boyfriend. I believe they call that ‘Check?’”

 

“Ah,” Mycroft wags a finger at you, before he sips at his drink. “They don’t call it ‘Check,’ if it was just a fishing expedition.” You raise an eyebrow at him. “No, I thought that if such a thing were true then I would have probably become aware of it by now. I do have a knack for figuring things out. Not only that, but if I hadn’t then Moriarty certainly would have. I dare say that it would have come up at that little meeting we had.” Your face tightens. “He would have told you to give up such a person at once. I almost regret the fact that you’re not in such a relationship because had you refused to end it like someone as foolish as you no doubt would have then you’d already be fully aware of the consequences of not toeing the line. I tried to illustrate them to you before, but they don’t seem to have gone in.” 

 

“No because I find it hard to fathom that you did that just to be nice and I don’t think it’s only our jobs at stake here. I don’t think you’d truly care if I lost my job and I find it hard to believe that this show really means that much to you that you’d do whatever you could to stay on it. What would it really result in if you didn’t toe the line? Or is the truth that you’re too much of a fucking coward to stand up to our boss?” Mycroft’s hand moves so fast to clutch at your wrist that his glass lets out a little wobble. Some of the other people in the bar-including Sally and Irene with some of their assistants-look across. Mycroft and you become aware of them and he lets go of you and sits back, smoothing down his clothes. You clear your throat. “You’re scared aren't you?” you ask and for some reason that knowledge makes you feel afraid too, more than his automatic attempt to subdue you just now. 

 

“That is neither here nor there and as much as you can believe what you like the final consequence would indeed be the loss of our jobs.” You stare at him steadily. There’s something more here. You know it. “I suppose,” Mycroft goes on, finally getting that he’s going to have to be a bit more honest with you if he’s going to get anywhere. You hold your breath, as his eyes dart around, before they return to yours, which narrow. “That if it’s more truth you’re seeking then Bruno wasn’t exactly that far off.”  
Again you just look at him. Mycroft lets out a breath. “No matter how irritating I find you my eyes like what they see,” he says with a grudging impatience. Your lips part. “Checkmate,” Mycroft raises a rueful toast to you, before he sips at his drink. 

 

“I don’t believe you.” 

 

“As I’ve said before you can believe what you wish.” Mycroft settles his glass back down and waves his hand as if to say that he can’t help it and that he wishes that he could. “It is the truth however, and one that you’ll have to accept eventually,” he says gravely. 

 

You tilt your head. If he’s speaking the truth then you can quite believe that he’d rather gauge his eyes out than think about you in such a way. But that’s the problem. You still find it hard to believe that it is the truth. It’s much easier to think that it’s just something he’s saying in the hope that you’ll go along with what Moriarty wants. Feeling confused and not wanting to stay there a second longer to become even more so you slide out of your seat hurriedly, stand; grab your bag and leave. “Bloody Mycroft,” you curse him as you walk through the revolving doors and out into the cold air. 

 

“F/N!” you hear a voice call and you look both to the right and ahead to see that John- who’d been the one to shout across-and Sherlock are a little way ahead of you with the strap of a black bag over both of their chests and their hands stuffed in their pockets. The collar of Sherlock’s denim jacket is up, whilst John looks grateful to have his warm jumper on as the breeze toys with both their hair. John beckons you across and you hurry over, tucking your hands in the pockets of your jeans as you do so for warmth. As you join them on the pavement John says, “We’re going clubbing. Fancy coming?” Your mouth opens. 

 

“Before you reply I should make a quick amendment to John’s words and say that it’s always his idea to go clubbing and that I just go”-

 

“So that I won’t make a complete arse of myself,” John says, waving a dismissive hand and grinning at you, “Yes, I know. It’s not that you secretly enjoy it or anything.” He looks at you. “Did you know that this git right here can tell about a million things from just looking at people?”

 

You shake your head, shifting your position and biting on your lip. You suddenly feel awkward, both from the prospect of Sherlock analysing you and from remembering Mycroft’s earlier words. _‘I do have a knack for figuring things out.’_ Damn him. Damn them all. Isn't anything sacred? 

 

“Don’t worry,” Sherlock says, his eyes shimmering in the semi-darkness as he looks at you and you suddenly worry that he might have read what had been running through your mind, “I could only tell that you live with a cat in a house that’s far too big for you, but which you simply adore, that you’re very close to your mother and you’ve got a bit of a hang-up about your father who you feel both sad and angry towards”-

 

“Yes, all right,” John says, nudging at Sherlock’s ribs with his elbow when he sees how your face is growing even more serious, as thoughts of your father, not just Mycroft swirl inside your mind, “That’s enough.” He looks at you. “Anyway, that’s not the only reason this git gets a kick out of going to clubs,” John tells you hurriedly in an attempt to distract you, “It’s also a good way for him to go against what his brother would want.”

 

You let out a sigh at that and the expression on John’s face falters as he realizes that, that had not perhaps been the most diverting thing that he could have said to you right now. Seeing his face and with both Mycroft and your father’s stuck in your own you suddenly feel like you want to forget it all if you can. You link your arms with theirs and say, “Yes, so which one are we going to?” Later, thanks to Sherlock and John’s company along with the alcohol you’ll cheer up enough to say that John should try asking Mary out some time, an opportunity that he won’t waste when he next sees her, but for now you just concentrate on the thought of getting happier and distracting your mind. 

 

You don’t see Mycroft watching you walk off with John and his brother from the entrance of Elstree studios. Don’t see the way that when he goes home, feeling like he must do something to try and understand you more and work out why you’re reluctant to have a fake romance with him he finds himself sitting on his leather settee and watching every film you’ve been involved in that he can find on Netflix with a glass of scotch to keep him company. He only ends up feeling an increasing bitterness though as he finds himself admiring your work. He ends up getting so embroiled in that, that he can’t even think coherently about anything else. It gets so bad that he even feels like Goldfish 123 is silently judging him. He scrapes a tired hand back across his face as he sits there, still feeling irritated with only the glow of the television providing light when he gets a text from Sherlock that says: **Instead of picking on her you should take a leaf out of F/N’s book. I’ve never seen anyone enjoy dancing with John more.** A frown lingers across his face because of that message and when he finally goes to bed and falls asleep he dreams that he finds you in a black and white landscape just out of a London park. You’re standing elegantly next to the old-fashioned wooden bin that’s attached to the dark, slightly rusting gates. You've got a black dress on, dark plum lipstick and eye-liner that makes the e/c colour of your eyes all the more vivid. Your arms are exposed, whilst a dark furry stole lies around your shoulders. Your hair is shinier and wavier, clipped down close to your head in a traditional style that wouldn't look amiss in the twenties. He feels that warmth of attraction settle low in his stomach, before he takes in what he’s wearing. He’s in a navy suit and tails with a white shirt, bow-tie and pocket-handkerchief. He adjusts his cuffs as your eyes meet. 

 

“Fancy seeing you here Mr. Holmes,” you say with a light firmness to your tone. 

 

“I’ve been waiting for you a long time Miss. L/N,” he finds himself replying. Then, all of a sudden, just like that, and as if there’s no need for further delay he’s stepping forwards and you’re dancing together. Doing a Quickstep around the ever-changing landscape behind you, which goes from the slightly damp pavement to the lushness of the green park to the outside of the Houses of Parliament. Red double-decker buses go by and black London cabs. You match him perfectly with every move. You seem to know when he wants to turn, when there is a need for you both to quicken, when he needs to go a little slower because his heart’s practically fit to burst and God how beautiful you look whenever he should turn his head as he changes direction and how perfectly your hand seems to fit in his. 

 

He wakes bolt upright with his heart racing and with a light coating of sweat over his body and the collar of the grey t-shirt he’s wearing. As his breathing calms down it doesn’t take him long to realize that he’d dreamt the same dance sequence that the male lead had in, _‘I Know It’s Not Me.’_ Only in the film the Chinese man had woken up to find his partner beside him as he wondered if they could ever really make it in London together. Mycroft looks over his shoulder at the free pillow that’s lying to his right and pictures you lying there for a moment, pictures how your hair might look fanned out against the pillowcase and how the soft brush of your eyelashes might look in the impending light. He lets out a soft breath. He’s going mad. But he will find out why you’re being so foolish and make you see sense, for the sake of his job and for staying on the good side of Moriarty. He lies back down and rolls sleepily on his side. Slowly he falls back asleep once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: Speculation is rife about the status of your relationship with Mycroft.


	4. Waterfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the live shows continue a waterfall of speculation begins to grow about your relationship with Mycroft.

Beep-Beep. Beep-Beep. Beep-Beep. 

 

Something flickers behind your eyelids at the noise. You open them when it repeats and let out a groan when you find yourself in bed on your stomach with the duvet half-down your back. You turn your head. Midnight’s huddled up, level to your face and watching you with his amber eyes as if you’re fascinating to him. You turn away, swipe off your alarm and pick up your phone from where its been resting on the bedside cabinet. Your head feels groggy. Your mind is working really slowly, but as soon as you remember the current weird situation you find yourself in with Mycroft and work and realize that you’ll be probably be spending another day in the same confusion you slump back down, push your face into your pillow and let out another groan. Midnight yawns, jumps neatly on your back and curls up on top of you. 

 

“Urgh,” you mumble, tilting your chin up so that it’s resting on the bottom of the pillow and dragging your phone out in front of your face. Midnight pushes against you with the pads of his front paws as if he’s telling you to keep down. 

 

You have what feels like a million text messages from your mum about last night. One about how fabulous you’d looked, some about the celebrities and how professional you’d sounded in your feedback to them and a single, _‘Remember,’_ which you take is about how you’d bickered with Mycroft. 

 

Your stomach sloshes. Feeling suddenly sick you mutter, “Bad idea,” and Midnight gives a bit of a strangled growl as you scramble upwards and hurry to the bathroom. 

 

It’s just dry retching in the end but that doesn’t mean that you’re looking forward to seeing Mycroft any more. 

 

*

 

Mycroft though is determined to talk to you again, so that you can properly start carrying out Moriarty’s agenda and he wastes no time in striding into your dressing room at the first opportunity. 

 

“Oh no,” you say, jumping up from where you’d been sitting in front of the mirror by the dressing table. You spin around. 

 

“Good morning to you too,” he says. 

 

You point. “I am not talking to you”-

 

“Well that’s a shame I must say because”-

 

“Did it ever occur to you in all of your arrogance that one of the reasons I don’t want to go along with Moriarty’s plan, aside from not wanting to be bullied into anything is because I don’t do fake romances and I don’t want anything to do with you? Or do you just think that you’re so fanciable that, that wouldn't even be an issue to me? I mean look at you,” you wave a hand, “Your hair is thinning, your nose is big, you barely have any lips, what exactly is it that I'm meant to be seeing here?” You’re fed up of him pressurizing you. Fed up of having a grey cloud hanging over everything. 

 

A muscle tightens in Mycroft’s jaw, and as he straightens up, bringing his feet together, you realize that you’ve just overstepped the mark. You open your mouth. Before you can even try and make up for it though Mycroft says, “You’re not exactly a prize to look at yourself Miss. L/N”-you flush-“But whilst we’re on the topic you’re meant to be seeing an opportunity to save your job. Do not make me out to be the villain here. I have tried to help you”-

 

“What? No you haven’t. You've just been doing all that for the sake of Moriarty and for keeping whatever consequences you keep going on about at bay.”

 

A muscle twitches unpleasantly in Mycroft’s jaw. “You can believe what you like, but the truth is that I have tried to guide you down the right path, so that you might actually last more than one series on this show. Yet you have continuously pushed my efforts aside because of how important being everybody else’s friend but mine is to you.”

 

“Excuse me? Why would I want to be your friend after the way that you’ve treated me?”

 

“In any case it’s not like you really want to be anybody else’s.” You open your mouth. “You’re just one of those people who wants everybody to like you when I bet really you’re far more manipulative than you’re making yourself out to be. How else would you have had such an easy ride?”- Mycroft lies, knowing that you’ve been struggling, but unable to do anything but irk you in that moment. 

 

“Oh yes because people pushing me into a relationship that I don’t want to be in has really been so much fun for me”-

 

“Well the fun ends here,” Mycroft announces and you scowl at him. “I hope that you will lose your job and truly be sorry that you did not pay any heed to my warnings. I also hope that I will not lose mine because of your foolishness.” He gives you one last cool stare, before he swivels on his heel and walks out. 

 

You swear and kick out at your dressing table, but as you let out a sigh and sit back down it doesn’t long for your regrets over the argument to filter through. All you’d wanted was for Mycroft to stop trying to push you to carry out Moriarty’s plan. You hadn’t wanted _this_ or like you’ve just done the exact opposite of what your mother would approve of. Hadn't wanted your own mind berating you for your words. 

 

Before you can even think about how you might be able to fix things with Mycroft and untangle this mess though, Mary bursts into your dressing room. You let out a breath and turn to look at her in shock. 

 

Her eyes had been gleaming with excitement, but they calm down and become somewhat more guarded, before she says, “I wanted to thank you.” Your face turns puzzled at that. “For telling John that he should ask me out,” she says. 

 

_“Oh,”_ you say softly, your face falling as your mind goes back to Mycroft once more. 

 

“We’re together now and Sherlock’s already been complaining about our behaviour,” she lets out a bit of a happy snort. Her hands wave about. “I guess I also owe you an apology. About the press thing…I shouldn't have been so blunt with you before.”

 

“I get it,” you say dismissively, “I'm new. I don’t get anything.” You frown, feeling once more like you’re missing something with Mycroft. Every time you try and put the pieces of him together it’s like they just don’t fit. 

 

The expression on Mary’s face falters. “Is something wrong?” she asks you. 

 

You keep your head low for a moment, thinking about it all. Should you be honest with Mary and tell her what’s on your mind? She does seem pretty close to Moriarty and you don’t want her going back to him about this. But at the same time she’s here now trying to make amends with you and you could really do with talking to someone. In the end you look up at her and ask her awkwardly, “What do you think of Mycroft?” 

 

_“Ah,”_ she says prominently, coming to stand to the side of you and leaning against the dressing table.

 

“It’s not like that.” You wave a hand. “It’s just that sometimes he says something and it confuses me, well, a lot of the time actually,” you confess. 

 

Mary stares at you. “You’re wondering whether he’s saying such a thing because of Moriarty or because that’s what he actually means?” she guesses. 

 

“Yeah,” you say. 

 

“Well,” she says, looking thoughtful. “He is quite serious and I get the sense that he wouldn't want to lose his job…but at the same time I’ve never seen him get as energized with his comments as he has in response to yours.” You pull a bit of a face. That reminds you of what Bruno had said last night and you’re still not sure what to make of that. You try to fix onto how the Italian had phrased it, as if Mycroft had been playing a character, a role because to become involved with someone like the Iceman in that way-someone that you can’t trust-would go against something you’d struggle to outwardly explain, but feel deep inside you. “As much as Mycroft Holmes might want to toe the line though no one can make him do or say anything he doesn’t want.” You look at her. “Moriarty doesn’t have as big a hold on him as me. I don’t think so anyway. As far as I know he doesn’t owe the man anything.” You pull a bit of a face. You doubt that. “If he’s saying something, something that makes you think that he’d like to be with you romantically, then that’s probably the truth and not part of some game. If Mycroft were really against it then he wouldn't even be going that far. He’s stubborn. I think he’d be wary of going against Moriarty, but if he really had to, if it was important to him then he would.” As your face falls into a picture of deep thought Mary grasps at your shoulder, before she leaves the room. 

 

You still don’t know what to think. Could someone like Mycroft really like you in that way? When you think of the way that he’s both welcomed and treated you, you find it hard to believe. Still, you’d like to apologize for being so harsh on his outward appearance. It had been wrong for you to take things that far and you want to put them right. 

 

*

 

Greg’s walking down the corridor, tapping out the rhythm to the song that he’d danced to last night on his leg and thinking about what the judges said and how he can improve. In his head he sees himself dancing the Tango the way that he should have. Sees the crowd giving him a standing ovation. Sees himself surprising and impressing people. But in reality all he knows is that he’s an average middle of the table dancer and that people dismiss him as a dim footballer. It is only the sight of Molly Hooper, coming down the corridor towards him and looking as thoughtful as he is that shakes him free from such musings and onto another path. After all it is all right for him he thinks. He’s overcome the first hurdle. Molly’s first dance is still to come and she looks terrified. “Good luck for tonight Molly,” he can’t help but say when he passes her. She looks at him in shock for a moment and he frowns. He hopes that she doesn’t think the same of him as everybody else seems to. But why wouldn't she? His heart sinks. He’s never talked to her before now after all. Never made the effort to show her that he’s someone else. 

 

*

 

“You can dance with her tonight,” Mycroft in his dark suit with light brown tie and pocket-handkerchief says in an upfront manner to a startled looking Bruno as he passes him in the corridor on his way backstage, “If I have to see that woman ever again then it will be too soon.”

 

Bruno, in his three-piece brown pinstriped suit, silver tie and pocket-handkerchief swivels on his heel to look at the back of the other man. “Did something happen?” he asks. 

 

“She’s insufferable.” Mycroft stops. “Let her get fired from her job, see if I care,” and with that he begins to stride away once more. 

 

“You clearly do by your tone,” Bruno calls after him, and Mycroft hesitates for the briefest of moments, before he swishes his jaw and goes on his way again. Bruno hurries off to find that you’re waiting backstage, looking upset. “Oh my darling,” he puts his hands on the shoulders of the black sparkly dress that you’re wearing. You've also got triangular black earrings hanging down and black nail varnish. “What is it?” he asks. 

 

“It’s just everything,” you say with a shake of your head. “I'm trying my best but I can’t seem to do anything right.” He hugs you briefly and as he lets go you try and explain further, “I tried to tell Mycroft that I don’t want to go along with what _he’s_ got planned. That I just can’t. It’s not how I work”-you gesture with your head up high. Bruno nods-“But I just ended up insulting him and now I don’t know what to think and I just want to apologize. I tried to find him earlier, but he kept walking in the opposite direction and he wouldn't answer the door when I knocked on his dressing room”-

 

“I got the feeling that something had happened between you when he said something about how I should dance with you tonight instead of him,” Bruno says, looking apologetic. “Now you’re stuck with me I'm afraid.” He tries to smile bravely at you. 

 

You sniff. “I don’t mind.” 

 

“In any case, if you have a moment to say a few words then he won’t be able to escape from you now that you’ll shortly be sitting next to one another,” Bruno says, rubbing at your arms. 

 

Your face significantly brightens at that and you manage to pull yourself together. 

 

As soon as you’ve gone out, done a quick spin with Bruno and re-claimed your seat at the judges desk you swallow a couple of times, glance sideways at Mycroft and say in a low tone, “I'm sorry about what happened earlier. I didn't mean to get so personal. I know that I'm nothing special. I was just tired of you pushing me about it that’s all. When you came into my dressing room it felt like you were invading my space, like an attack. I'm sorry if you feel like I’ve been doing something similar today, but I just wanted to apologize. We still have to work together.” You shrug, trying to smile at him. 

 

For a moment Mycroft doesn’t reply. Then he tugs his notebook closer to him and begins flicking through it irritably. “It’s too late now. Batting your eyelashes won’t get you anywhere with me.” He twirls his pen absent-mindedly in his hand. 

 

You feel a surge of anger. “I said I'm”- your voice rises alarmingly and Bruno gives a loud cough to try and cover it. You sit back and try and collect yourself, your own hands fidgeting with your pen. “I'm sorry.”

 

“Sorry that I haven’t been hoodwinked by your charms no doubt,” is all that Mycroft murmurs, still fuming, not only about your stubbornness in accepting help, but your desire to keep whatever it is from him and your rejection of him. 

 

As the show properly gets under way you find yourself simmering with rage. You've tried to make amends and he’s just shoved it in your face, shoved it like he no doubt thinks that you’ve pushed all his attempts to help away if what he’d said earlier had been true. But though you feel that pang of guilt again about your role in all of this it doesn’t last long. Not when Mycroft gives the first two dances a three and when he gives the next one a two. You turn to him and mutter, “I know what you’re doing and it needs to stop.” Him taking it out on the contestants just because of what had happened between you today in the dressing room is unacceptable. You might have upset each other but you’re trying to be professional about this and he should be too. You think that you see something tighten around his jaw but he doesn’t reply. 

 

It’s when it’s Molly’s turn though that things properly explode between you. She comes out after the cute VT that had shown her giggling as she tried to get Kevin to remember the names of all her cats in between training and does a Cha-Cha-Cha to _‘Rather Be’_ by _Clean Bandit_ and _Jess Glynne._ They have a cute story. It starts off with Molly brushing a grey toy cat that’s been placed on a white table similar to the kind of one that you’d find in a vet’s. Kevin comes across in a white lab coat over a dark blue shirt, navy tie and dark trousers and they start dancing. Molly’s wearing a really pretty pink and white chequered dress and got her hair in a high ponytail. She’s not the best bless her but she’s far from the worst and you think that it’s probably just her nerves and the situation that’s getting to her at the moment. 

 

“When you came out and you started going for it,” Len says in his navy suit and bow-tie once Tess has asked for his opinion, “I was like, ‘Go on girl! Show us what you’ve got!’ But then you started to lose time and I'm afraid that it all went a bit downhill from there.” The audience boos. “I'm just being honest,” Len says with a bit of an annoyed shrug that gets a titter of laughter from some of the audience members. He grasps onto his pen all the more tightly. 

 

Kevin winces, but Molly nods, accepting the comment. 

 

“Len’s quite right,” Bruno says, “It was a fine attempt, but you needed a bit more rotation in your hips my darling.” Molly nods, but giggles a little when Bruno stands up and gives her a demonstration. There’s some nervous laughter from the audience. 

 

“Ooh er,” Tess grins, “You've really got him going now.” Molly giggles again. “Mycroft?” The expression on Molly’s face becomes flat like a stone and the audience seems to hold their breath.

 

Mycroft doesn’t hold back. “For me it lacked any drive, even at the beginning. I thought the story was weak and that you don’t seem to be taking this process very seriously at all. It made me wonder why you came on this show at all actually.” He’s directing this last sentence at you in particular and he hopes that you’ll pick up on it. He doesn’t get why you’re making things so difficult for yourself and how you can expect to stay on the show if you won’t go along with how it’s run. 

 

When you hear Mycroft’s words the anger that you feel at listening to such a stupid, callous thing goes straight to your head and before you can control yourself you’re half-getting out of your seat, turning to him and pointing as you say, “You've got it completely wrong.”

 

Mycroft turns his head towards you as if he couldn't care less about your words. “Sometimes I think you just argue with me for the sake of it F/N,” he says, feeling secretly satisfied about having this chance to argue with you. A negative reaction is better than none at all and part of him still can’t help but hold out hope that he’ll be able to turn things around for the better, even now. 

 

“Sometimes I think you’re being completely ridiculous. You might think that it’s perfectly realistic to expect Oscar award-winning performances in week one, but you need to get something through that thick skull of yours and that’s that precious few of these celebrities have had any dance training before, let alone anything that adds up to much and that it’s going to take time for them to reach the levels of perfection that you crave. Some of them might never get there. Not all of us can be excellent dancers just like not all of us can be West End directors. Some of us are bakers”-you gesture to Molly-“Or footballers”-you think of Greg and can’t know that he smiles from where he’s upstairs with Claudia and all the other dancers when he hears that-“Or even camera operators,” you say and Mycroft’s face turns sour at your reference to his brother. “Some of us have to work in film, not the theatre, but that doesn’t mean that we’re any less capable than you. It just means that we have different strengths in different areas. Is that clear?”

 

“Crystal,” Mycroft says, barely blinking and feeling grudgingly impressed with you, but that soon vanishes when he sees how the audience let out whoops of support, some even getting to their feet and his face becomes tighter, his expression pinched. You feel satisfied for about half-a-second until he goes on, “It’s crystal clear to me that once more you’re drawing divine inspiration from _‘Disney’_ and your emotions. Dance is not”-

 

“Dance can be anything,” you tell him loudly, sitting down. 

 

“I disagree,” Mycroft says with pursed lips. 

 

“I expect that you do,” you say. 

 

“Right, if the both of you are quite finished,” Tess says, before she hurriedly sends Molly and Kevin up to Claudia and moves on once more. 

 

Mycroft gives Molly a one and you feel like strangling him. If looks could kill right now then he’d be dead several times over. 

 

“I think we might have to change where our judges sit,” Tess says nervously when she spots such a thing. 

 

“Yes, Mycroft can go and sit in the corner and judge from over there,” you tell her, “If the dancers brush against his nose then perhaps he’ll at long last be able to understand all the hard work that they’re putting in.” 

 

“Well, it’s always nice to have appreciation,” Tess says with a strained smile, whilst Mycroft looks at you reproachfully, but doesn’t say a thing. 

 

The pair of you continue to bicker all throughout the night and Mycroft doesn’t give anyone higher than a five. You find him more and more intolerable with every moment and as soon as the show’s over you go straight to your dressing room without talking to anybody. 

 

You’d been hoping for a moment’s peace and some time on your own, whilst you got changed, but much to both your chagrin and surprise there’s someone waiting for you there. Someone by the name of James Moriarty. 

 

As you enter and the door shuts in a soft fashion behind you, he creeps closer in his dark suit, white shirt and disco ball tie. You stiffen. As he stops to the side of you he touches at your bare arm and you shiver. Suddenly you wish that Mycroft or that anyone quite frankly would walk in and disturb you, but Mycroft seems to have given up on you. 

 

“Good job,” your boss purrs, “But try and not kill Mycroft, before the romance can really begin won’t you?” 

 

“There’s not going to be any romance,” you say harshly as Moriarty makes to go past you. 

 

He freezes, before he turns back to you properly. His eyes are dark, unfathomable. “Oh there is my dear,” he says, “There is.” Your jaw tightens and he grasps very lightly at your chin. For a moment you just stare at each other as hatred fills your eyes and distaste takes over his, before he lets go of you and goes on his way once more. 

 

*

 

It’s the ringing of your phone that wakes you the following morning, not your alarm. You've changed your ringtone to the _‘Strictly Come Dancing’_ theme tune, though now you wish you hadn’t because hearing that song only brings back the mess that you’re in. You let out a bit of a groan, pick your phone up off your bedside cabinet and roll onto your back. 

 

“Hello?”

 

“Is it true?” comes your mother’s voice in a bit of a breathless fashion. 

 

“Huh wha?”- you mumble incoherently, wondering what on earth she’s going on about. 

 

“Are Mycroft and you dating?”

 

_“What?”_ you ask, sitting up bolt upright and feeling alarmed. Has Moriarty given something to the papers to make it look as if you’re together in order to carry out his agenda? Your mother repeats the same question. _“No!”_ you utter fervently, “What’s even made you think that?” 

 

“Everyone else seems to want you to be”-

 

“Mum you’re going to have to be more expansive,” you say, swiping your hand tiredly over your face and bracing yourself for this next chapter in the ongoing difficulty that’s your life. 

 

“Have you not heard?”

 

“Mum I’ve only just woken up,” you say with a bite of impatience in your tone. You check the clock. It’s only half-past eight. It’s not exactly late, but you’re already feeling far too behind on things. 

 

“Everyone’s talking about Mycroft and you and the way that you acted on the show last night. They all want you to get together. There’s a lot of chemistry there,” she says. 

 

Your stomach swoops unpleasantly when you realize that Moriarty hadn’t even had to do anything because you’d played right into his hands and done enough all by yourself. You’d been so mad about Mycroft not accepting your apology and hearing what he’d said to Molly had really been the last straw. “Yeah the kind of chemistry that makes things explode,” you get out dismissively, before you ask, “Mum I get other people seeing things that don’t exist. But _you?_ Haven’t I been telling you all this time how much I can’t stand him?”

 

“Well,” your mum begins carefully, “There’s a thin line between love and hate”-

 

“Pfft Mum that’s just a load of old rubbish.”

 

“And,” she goes on, “Even I can’t help but see the way that you manage to push at each other’s buttons”-

 

“Yeah, that’s’ like the exact reason why we should never be together Mum,” you say dryly because there is no way in hell that you’re thinking about the way that your skin had tingled the other night when you’d shaken Mycroft’s hand, your increased heartbeat or the fact that your eyes don’t mind the look of him in his suits. No way that you’re going to let yourself think about what he himself had said at the BBC bar. _‘ No matter how irritating I find you my eyes like what they see.’_ No way that you’re ever going to admit that you’ve found him attractive from the start, despite how annoying he can be, because the more Moriarty wants to push you together the further you want to dig your heels in. You make a sound of annoyance in your throat when you realize that you’re just thinking about all those things. 

 

“But it’s more than that. You've always been capable of getting a little argumentative at times,” your mother goes on, getting you out of all of your thought. 

 

“Thanks Mum,” you say.

 

“But when you’re sitting next to Mycroft and he says something that you don’t like it’s like this fire burns inside your eyes and you come alive”-

 

“Yes because those dancers deserve to have someone on their side and not be de-moralized by that twat all night. Honestly he accuses _me_ of being emotional! But he gave that one to Molly last night just because he was pissed off with me. Well I'm sorry Mum, but everyone else and you can forget it. I'm not going out with someone like that. Not ever.” No reply comes from your mum’s end. “Mum?” Nothing. _“Mum?”_ you try a little louder, getting more anxious. 

 

“Oh sorry F/N I just put the phone down for a minute because I heard the sound of someone protesting too much.”

 

_“Mum!”_ you say aghast, “Nothing is happening between Mycroft and me,” you get out with a firm incredulity, “He’s just a twat and the only reason that I don’t like working on the show.” Apart from all the stupid backstage drama with Moriarty you think. 

 

“All right dear,” she says. 

 

You come off the phone with a shake of your head. You slam it down on your bedside cabinet, get out of bed and stomp to the bathroom in your grey t-shirt and stripy blue and white pyjama bottoms. Midnight follows at your heels. “I do not”-you push the door open-“Have any sort of crush or feelings for Mycroft Holmes.” You go to stand in front of the wide, silver mirror, which is halfway up the far wall over a sink and stare at your rumpled appearance for a moment. Your hair’s a mess. “Actually scratch that,” you say, as you swipe up your toothbrush and squeeze some toothpaste onto it. You stare at yourself again. “I have feelings of intolerable rage towards him. He’s an ungrateful bastard and I hate him with every fiber of my being because he’s making my life so damn complicated.” Midnight jumps up by the sink. You look at him. “You believe me don’t you?” you ask him. He tilts his head and blinks. “Urgh, useless cat,” you sigh, before you go on to scrub your teeth.

 

* 

 

One of the first things you do after breakfast seeing as it’s a Sunday and you’ve got the time to is to look up what people are saying about you online. You’re kind of hesitant about doing so, but you’re too curious not to, so you decide to see how far you can push that old curiosity killed the cat thing. You see that people have made memes about you on Tumblr showing a still of where you’d half-stood up and pointed at Mycroft, before you’d started your rant and captioned it with their own words. You swallow. You look so angry that you nearly frighten yourself. One says, _‘You. Me. Backstage now.’_ You swallow at the implied meaning. Whilst another one has that picture at the top and a scribbled drawing that someone’s done of Mycroft looking scared out of his mind at the bottom. You snort at that, liking the amount of control that you have over him. On Twitter the _‘RadioTimes’_ cover is doing the rounds and someone seems to agree with the words on the title- _‘There’s a new judge in town and no one’s safe,’_ -saying, _‘Got that right.’_ Someone’s even photo-shopped a picture and made it look like Mycroft’s running away from you, waving hands that are too long for his body in the air. Whilst another user’s put: _‘Dress: one hundred and fifty pounds. Make-up: twenty-five pounds. Bitch-slapping Mycroft Holmes live on TV: Priceless.’_ There’s also many articles fluttering about, some which question whether either Mycroft or you had acted inappropriately for what is supposed to be a feel good and family viewing show. One website’s even done a poll on that exact thing. Thirty-five per cent of people think that you both took things too far and that it became too personal, but there are numerous messages of support for you. Saying that you’d just done what people have been wanting to do to Mycroft Holmes for two years now and that it’s about time that someone stood up to him. A lot of people have contacted you on Twitter too saying, _‘Go girl.’_ Whilst someone who’s of the opinion that heated words must have previously passed between you backstage based on the comments that you’d both made have started trying to make a timeline that can be used as evidence to suggest why you should be together, going as far back as the red carpet event. They've even got a hazy picture of Mycroft and you sitting opposite each other in the BBC bar and you wonder for a moment if that had come from an inside source. Has Moriarty been letting things leak out? In any case someone’s commented, _‘Love to be a fly on the wall there.’_ No you wouldn't you think, feeling glad that what was said between you hadn’t been revealed. People would really be having a field day with that! 

 

You click off the Internet feeling uneasy and decide that you won’t post anything about the show or respond to any questions until this all dies down. If you post anything then it will be something that people can’t draw anything from. Back to Midnight’s pictures you think sardonically. 

 

*

 

Mycroft is not exactly having an easy morning either. He’s been made fully aware of the speculation that’s starting to be created about him and you by Sherlock who had heard it from Sally who had heard it from Mary who had no doubt been told by Moriarty to let it filter through to everyone. After having looked up such things himself he’s feeling more pressure than ever before to try and do what Moriarty wants. He’s still however feeling more than a little annoyed with you after what you’d said to him in your dressing room and he hopes that you’ve become aware of the attention that’s now on you and are rapidly changing your mind about not going through with the plan. It would do you good to see the reality that he’s been trying to make you aware of ever since you started this job and more than that for you to see that things will be a lot easier on you if you go along with all this. 

 

His mobile rings and grumbling still from where he’s sitting on the settee with his laptop on his knees he draws it to his ear. “Hello?” he utters grumpily. 

 

“Now Mykie is that any way to speak to your long-suffering mother?” Violet Holmes asks. God damn it, not Mummy ringing him too! That’s all that he needs. “I hope that you don’t speak to F/N in that way, although if what I saw on TV over the past couple of days is anything to go by then you could probably stand being a bit nicer to her dear.”

 

“Mummy I don’t know what you’ve heard, but there is really nothing going on between F/N and I. In any case I have every right to treat F/N like that. She’s been very rude to me”-

 

“Whilst I'm sure that you’ve never said a word that could be construed as unpleasant to her”-

 

“Mummy”-

 

“Mykie I hope that you’re being a gentleman. You know it would upset your father and I if you weren’t, but from your behaviour on the show and from what I'm hearing from you right now I'm taking it that we are going to have to be disappointed with you. We’re not going to have to pay you a visit are we?” 

 

“Mummy if you honestly knew the behaviour that I have to put up with from F/N then you would not be defending her in such a way.”

 

“What is so bad that she’s said then? All I can see is a woman who’s trying to find her feet and fit into her new role. I'm sure that whatever she said it was just the stress talking”-

 

“Oh yes, because stress makes people tell someone that they have a big nose and thinning hair and”-

 

“Oh Mykie,” Mummy says, letting out a bit of a laugh now and Mycroft feels indignant, “It’s not as if she was exactly lying”-

 

_“Mummy!”_ Mycroft says, appalled. 

 

“Well you do dear. Your hair is growing a bit thin now as it’s naturally inclined to do and you’ve always had a rather large nose, but there’s nothing wrong with that. You know that I’ve always thought it makes you look distinguished.” Mycroft mutters something incoherently. Violet lets out a soft, sympathetic tut, knowing that he probably just thinks that she’s saying that because she’s his mother. She goes on wisely, “I think you know those things are true yourself and the real reason that you’re so annoyed with it all is because it’s F/N who’s said them.”

 

Mycroft’s cheeks redden. “I don’t know what you mean.”

 

“Oh I think you do Mycroft. I’ve seen the change in you since she started on the show and I think you want her to see you in another light, which is exactly why you’ve taken against her comments so strongly.”

 

“ ‘Another light,’” Mycroft repeats mockingly, before he shifts his position uncomfortably and says, “Even if that were true then at the moment with the way things stand then it is something that’s never going to happen. She’s completely insufferable”-

 

“Oh Mycroft”-

 

“No she is,” Mycroft protests, “I’ve tried to make an effort and help guide her, but she doesn’t trust me and refuses to accept my help.”

 

“Then you must keep trying my dear until she understands what you want her to.”

 

“Quite frankly Mummy,” Mycroft says, letting out a bit of a sigh now, “I'm beginning to wonder if there’s any point with someone as stubborn and pig-headed as her.”

 

“Oh Mycroft,” Violet says and Mycroft does not like her knowing tone, “I think you know that there’s a point and I do not think that you have it in you to stop now. Why else would she have been able to so successfully rile you? She challenges you. She makes you think about things in a different way, see that there could be more to this world than you’d previously anticipated”-

 

“How can you possibly tell all that?” he asks her. 

 

“I am your mother, and I think it is vital that you persist with her and do not give up now.” 

 

Mycroft comes off the phone a moment later, deep in thought. He thinks again about what he finds attractive about you and about the stupidity that you’re no doubt going to get yourself embroiled in if you continue not to play Moriarty’s game. If you carry on like this then he knows that there will come a point when you’ll need someone to lean on, and even if you do eventually see things his way that point will probably come anyway he knows. He lets out a sigh. Mummy’s right. He has to keep trying. He might not like you all the time, but as the older and more experienced wiser party he sees it as his responsibility to prevent a disaster from occurring if he can help it. 

 

* 

 

Although you try to carry on with your week and try to ignore it the issue of Mycroft and you follows you around. One newspaper headline reads: _‘Is the Strictly curse hitting the judges this year?’_ Obviously its been written by Kitty Riley who’s newspaper- _‘The Sun’_ -is one that Magnussen’s in charge of now you come to think about it. Surprise, surprise. Her article includes the line _‘…much feverish speculation has grown up because of F/N’s heated words and the way that Mycroft and she were arguing more like a married couple than two people in a working relationship on Saturday.’_ Again you wish that she’d just shut up. It’s not just her though. You feel like people’s eyes are on you intently and when they stop you in the street for an autograph or photo you can feel the issue lingering in the space between you. You would say that Moriarty’s done a good job, but you know that you’ve pretty much brought all this on by yourself. 

 

One frizzy strawberry blonde-haired girl comes right out with it after asking for a photo. “Is there anything going on between Mycroft and you?” she says. 

 

“No,” you say, forcing a smile at her and really wishing that you weren’t you in that moment. 

 

“My friend thinks that you could whip him into line,” she giggles, before she rushes away again, leaving you standing there feeling a little shell-shocked and wondering what on earth’s going on with you when an image of a half-naked Mycroft underneath you as you straddle his waist and raise a whip comes to your mind. You swallow and stumble as you move forwards. Thankfully the girl doesn’t look around or at least photos of you with what she’d just said don’t appear splashed all over the Internet at any rate. 

 

The week continues a little uneasily, you feeling a tightening of your stomach whenever the special BBC idents that have been done to promote the show come on and as you think about it all. You still can’t realistically see yourself with Mycroft. Even if there is a whole other side to him the unpleasant one that you know is still there and you surely wouldn't be able to trust him. But still though you cling onto that the more you think about everything and Bruno and Mary’s words the more the whole thing leaves you feeling tired and withdrawn. 

 

* 

 

You let out a loud yawn in the make-up room that Saturday when you’re surrounded by a load of other people getting their hair and make-up done-Molly’s just vacated the chair on your left. Sally looks at you in concern through the mirror from where she’s putting your hair into a fishtail plait. “Sorry,” you wave a hand, “Just tired.” 

 

“Not from staying up with a particular someone?” Your face darkens at that and seeing it she quickly adds, “Sorry, I don’t really believe in all the stuff that’s been swirling about this week. I just couldn't help it.”

 

You shrug, before you let out a bit of a breath. “Its just been a bit tiring,” you confess, “Usually no one’s looking at me and now, especially on tonight’s show I get the sense that they all will be.” Especially Moriarty, waiting and watching to see if you’re going to go along with that plan of his or if you need to suffer the consequences. You can accept what Mycroft had said at the BBC bar about the end result being the loss of both your jobs if you don’t go along with things, but you’re still left feeling intrigued about what it is that Mycroft’s so scared about and why losing the job really matters that much to him. He’s got all his West End work after all. You get the sense that he wouldn't exactly be struggling… 

 

Remembering what you’d said last week on the show when you’d been commenting on Vera’s dance Sally says, “At least you’ll be looking your best then.” 

 

“Mm,” you try and smile, but it’s hard to stay positive.

 

Sensing that you need a distraction Sally says, “So what type of man do you go for then?” Obviously not convinced that her words are a topic apart from the one you’ve just been discussing you look at her. “If we can fix you up with someone else then it might get everyone off your back,” she smiles at you knowingly. 

 

You’re not sure what Moriarty would make of that and you get the feeling that, that wouldn't do much but complicate things right now. Yet you like the idea that Sally might not be in Moriarty’s pocket quite as much as everyone else, so you take the time to consider her question. “Well,” you finally say, bolstered further by the fact that it will be difficult for anyone else to overhear you in the crowded room, “Usually someone intelligent and smartly dressed.” You pull a bit of a face when you realize that both of those things could apply to a description of Mycroft. He’s not even an option you think. You might be feeling tired and low, but the last part of your sanity is screaming at you that you must not do what Moriarty wants. It will only make things more tricky. 

 

Sally must realize who your words sound like too for she says, “Are you sure you don’t”-

 

You wriggle and she lets out a bit of a laugh. “I know what you’re thinking,” you warn her, “But I also go for a man with a sense of humour too and I'm not sure that Mycroft has one of those.” For that’s something that you haven’t seen in Mycroft’s personality, hidden or otherwise. 

 

Sally only gets the chance to let out a sound of acknowledgement, before there comes a cry of, “Yoohoo, Mycroft what are you doing there?” and several people, including Sally and you, turn your heads to see Mrs. Hudson bustling in with a trolley that’s full of white, porcelain cups and everything that you need to make tea followed by a sheepish and rather embarrassed looking Mycroft. He’s got on a dark suit with a white shirt and to your surprise you see that the silver of his tie and pocket handkerchief match the silver dress that you’re wearing with its lacy bodice, which flares into a shimmering of gold at its bottom. You can’t know that he’d specifically gone to Moriarty and requested such a thing in an attempt to save you both and make you see sense. You’ll only be wearing a very light make-up upon your face with the focus on making your cheeks look rosy and painting your nails gold. Whilst the silver and gold flower earrings you’ve got on only further help to make you look delicate. You look at him a little mistrustfully; wary after the way that you’d left things with him the last time. “I’ve brought you all some refreshments, thought that you could do with them by now,” Mrs. Hudson says, parking her trolley next to Sally and you. She’s met with a chorus of approval, but before she starts taking everyone’s orders about the exact way that they like their tea she jerks her thumb behind her and says, “Found this one skulking outside in the corridor.” She looks at you as if you might have an answer for that. Your eyes go to Mycroft. The only reason that you can think of for him being stood just outside is if he’d been trying to listen in to what Sally and you had been discussing and you hope that if that’s why he’d been there that he hadn’t heard much because of all the bustling movement coming from inside. You don’t want him to start trying to convince you that you should be together again and it leading to another argument. You've had enough tension to last you a lifetime. 

 

His eyes go to you briefly, before they fix on Sally, “I looked in, but saw that you were busy, so I thought I’d wait out here,” he says. 

 

Sally looks amused by this excuse for a moment, but manages to cover it up quickly with, “I could have always got one of my girls to do you.” 

 

Mycroft shakes his head. “But I find that no one does my hair better,” he says.

 

You narrow your eyes at him. “What do you mean?” you ask without being able to help it, but you curse yourself a moment later for doing such a thing. If he has come in the hope that he can get you to do what Moriarty wants then you’re only playing further into his hands by reacting to him. 

 

To your further irritation Mycroft looks pleased. “Well,” he says, “If you’re not going to adhere to what you should then I'm not either,” and with that he gives Sally his best smile. 

 

“Are you trying to make me jealous?” you ask him. 

 

Mycroft looks at you. “Is it working?” 

 

“No,” you say, trying to keep an air of being unimpressed about you, but you find it suddenly hard to and your lips quirk upward. You feel pleased though you don’t know why. Mycroft looks happy. 

 

Sally looks between you both curiously. “In that case perhaps you could have a seat, whilst I finish F/N off?” she tells Mycroft, gesturing at the empty chair that’s next to you. 

 

He nods and goes over to it with a bit of a spring in his step, before he sits down upon it with a thump. His head turns towards you instantly and his eyes glitter as they rake over you. You attempt to meet his gaze, not wanting to seem like you’re afraid of him or the fact that you’re growing all the more certain that Mycroft had heard a lot more of your conversation with Sally than you’d wanted him to, but Sally, who’s still doing your hair, puts a hand on your cheek and tilts it back to face the front again. “I see that you’re going for a more demure look,” Mycroft sniffs. 

 

“It’s what’s been decided upon,” you reply in a curt tone, before you inform him in a stiffer one, “I find it rather odd that our outfits match.”

 

“Perhaps it is not so strange,” Mycroft says, facing the front, leaning back and stretching his legs out. “We will be dancing together in the opening of the show after all.”

 

You grimace. You’d tried to get out of that, not wanting to feel more confused or be put in a difficult situation if Mycroft was still mad with you, but Bruno, looking apologetic, but firm had said that since you should have danced with Mycroft last Saturday and that he’d already got you out of it once he couldn't possibly get you out of it again or things would begin to look rather strange. Not doing something can make people talk just as much as doing something can he’d said. You strongly suspect that Moriarty’s had a word in his ear and warned him not to interfere. But whatever the case you can hardly keep pushing the issue, not if it might mean that Bruno’s own job might be on the line. 

 

Mycroft crosses his ankles as he looks at you in amusement through the mirror. “Could that look on your face mean that you are not excited about dancing with me?” he asks. “Perhaps you are afraid that I will step on your feet, but I assure you that I am the most elegant of dancers”-

 

“I am glad that you think so”- you get in, still hating his confidence. 

 

Mycroft’s eyebrows dip, but only ever so slightly. “Besides,” he says as his face smoothes out again, “Since I have the ability to barb you so successfully with words I see no reason for physical violence.”

 

“That’s reassuring,” you quip dryly. 

 

Sally raises an eyebrow. She’s beginning to get the sense-what with the exchange that had passed between you and the energy that she can feel fizzing-that something happening between Mycroft and you on a romantic level is not so far-fetched after all…

 

*

 

“Please welcome our fantastic four to the floor. Len Goodman and Bruno Tonioli,” Tess waves a hand and the two come out from the left, Bruno in a black suit, white shirt, gold and black patterned tie and gold pocket handkerchief and Len in a pinstriped grey suit and yellow tie and pocket handkerchief. “And F/N L/N and Mycroft Holmes,” Tess’s voice rises. 

 

Mycroft and you step out from the right to much applause and fevered looks to the orchestra’s beat, both of you wearing fixed tight smiles upon your faces at knowing that everyone’s attention is on you. You feel Mycroft shifting behind you and he touches at both of your hands, which when added to the adrenalin that you’re feeling makes your heart slam against your chest. He lets go of your left hand and swings you away from him with his right. You twirl beneath his arm, come back into him, and your heart leaps when your free hand catches against his chest, before you do yet another twirl and then face the front again. Feeling unusually almost thrown off guard and giddy you find your head twisting and tilting up to look at Mycroft. His eyes are on you, and they, along with the way that he’s holding you, his hand no more than a brush against yours and his other a feather light presence on your back, are so gentle that it makes your heart skip a beat.

 

All of a sudden though he’s clearing his throat and letting go of you. The moment broken you make your way to the judges desk.

 

“Well,” Tess says, turning to the pair of you once the other judges and you have taken your seats, “It’s nice to see you two dancing with each other and that you’ve obviously made up after last week.” She nods approvingly at you both. 

 

As soon as she looks away you can hear Mycroft releasing a sigh that had no doubt been building up inside him and you feel a strange fluttering inside you. Both Bruno and Mary’s previous words about the difference in him come back to you and as you half-look at him you wish that you could just make up your mind about him once and for all and that he wouldn't affect you so much. 

 

Four dances pass without too much drama. All receive medium scores with you only disagreeing with Mycroft by one or two points so you can’t exactly get mad at him for that and his comments too have been quite placid. You can feel this surge in the audience though every time that you open your mouth as if they’re willing you to get all fiery again, but you think on the whole that it might be best if you try to restrain yourself. You find that hard to do when you’re around Mycroft, but that’s the only way that things will calm down after all. Then comes Vera Turner. 

 

This week she’s doing an American Smooth and you have to smile at how she takes being a lady to the extreme during training, ordering Anton about. The song starts- _‘Fly Me to the Moon’_ by _Frank Sinatra_ -and slowly Vera-in a midnight blue dress, silver dangly earrings and with her hair done up in a bun at the top of her head and ringlets hanging down either side with black painted nails-and Anton-in a black and white bow-tie ensemble-begin to move across the floor. The story is gorgeous-a couple meeting up in secret underneath the moonlight and dancing-and despite the fact that it’s clear to you that Vera’s more comfortable in hold you easily get lost in it. So much so that you miss the way that Mycroft’s eyes slide to you consideringly halfway through, miss the way that a little breath escapes him as a tear leaves your eye and as your chest heaves with emotion. 

 

“Breathtaking,” Tess says as a slightly out of puff Vera and Anton join her and you find that you have to agree.

 

“Oh I hope so,” Vera says, looking anxiously at you all.

 

The presenter’s eyes go to you and she does a little double take, before a smile comes over her face. “F/N is that a little tear in your eye I can see?” she asks knowingly. 

 

“It might be,” you gurgle a little embarrassedly and the audience laughs. “It was so beautiful that I could barely take any notes because I didn't want to miss a thing”- you break off again as a bigger tear slides down your cheek, carving a path upon your foundation. 

 

“Here,” Mycroft’s soft voice comes and he whips his pocket-handkerchief out and nudges it insistently against your hand that’s upon the desk. You look at him suspiciously, before your mouth opens and two dots of pink make their way onto your cheeks, making them look even rosier when you catch sight of the pocket-handkerchief he’s given you. You look up and see that something changes in his eyes as he gazes at you, before he clears his throat and breaks the eye contact. “It’s better if the desk doesn’t get wet. I want to be able to write my notes in a dry space,” he says, looking at Tess and suddenly taken out of the moment it occurs to you that Mycroft probably had not made such an action to try and be a gentleman, but to draw attention to the possibility of him and you and to please Moriarty. You swallow. 

 

Tess however goes along with the angle that he no doubt wants her to when she says, “Very gentlemanly,” with a staged wink. The audience laughs and everything about you grows tense. You do not want to be entertainment fodder. Still, with the cameras fixed on you and Tess looking at you rather pointedly you know that it will draw more attention to you if you reject Mycroft’s fake gesture. Consequently and in a stiff manner you lift the pocket-handkerchief to your eyes and dab at them, trying not to breathe in the strong scent of coconut as you do so. You’re left feeling rather dizzy as you lower the pocket-handkerchief to the table once more. It seems to have done the trick though for Tess nods at you, before she goes on to ask Bruno about the dance that had just been.

 

“Oh,” Bruno says, standing up and extending his hand out in a long line, “Two illicit lovers meeting beneath the moonlight. It was wonderful my darling. A vast improvement from last week.”

 

“I have to agree,” Len says, “You need to work on letting go of Anton”-Anton pulls a bit of a funny face and the audience laughs-“You’re using him as a bit of a comfort blanket at the moment and now that we know that you have potential in the ballroom dances I want your Latin to improve too, but other than that I thought you did a fine job.”

 

Once Vera and Anton have gone up to join Claudia and you’ve tapped in your scores, Mycroft murmurs, “I don’t enjoy this attention either you know.” 

 

“Really?” you retort a little heatedly, “I thought that it would have been right up your street.” He looks at you, not feeling pleased and that temptation to give up again grows inside him. You really seem to lack the basic ability to think things through and do what’s best for yourself. Once more, not taking heed how you’d like him to you go on, “I happen to think that you rather deserve it all. Isn't attention what you desire? Attention from our boss? You’re like a schoolgirl with a crush, crying out to be noticed.”

 

“F/N,” Len says with a little warning in his tone from your other side, for the cameras are about to go back to the judges. 

 

But Mycroft and you only have eyes for the other. “Listen,” the auburn-haired judge growls heatedly, pinning a hand on your arm, which rests on the desk. His breath hits your ear like an unwelcome draught. “Do you have any idea how bad things could be if you don’t become more willing to do as he wishes?” 

 

“You told me. I’d lose my job, which right now doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. At least it would get me away from you,” you hiss. 

 

Mycroft is just about to tell you off for being so stupid and childish when the announcer says, “The judges have their scores.” Mycroft and you jerk away from each other. He straightens up with a clearing of his throat. “Mycroft Holmes.”

 

“Seven,” he announces. 

 

Still feeling riled up from everything you announce, “Eight,” a little more gruffly than you’d have liked. Mycroft shifts beside you. Feeling more irked than ever you bite down hard upon your lip as Len and Bruno also go on to award Vera and Anton an eight. 

 

It’s Molly’s turn the dance after next and with Mycroft’s pocket-handkerchief still on the desk like a crumb that no one wants to touch you watch the VT. This week Molly’s doing a Tango and you feel tense as you see her struggling through training. 

 

“I’m quite a happy person,” she says to the camera in the training room, “So I’m finding it hard to do all the”-she attempts to do a quick head flick with a serious expression upon her face, before she bursts out laughing. Your stomach knots up. You so want her to do well. “Perhaps I’ll have to use F/N as inspiration,” she says suddenly, giggling, “Because wow, she was so fierce on Saturday.” You swallow and Mycroft shifts beside you. He’d still been feeling cross about your stubborn streak, but now he’s finding that he wants to try with you again. 

 

“I’ve been attempting to get Molly in the right frame of mind,” Kevin says with a bit of a smile, pointing to pictures of _‘Grumpy Cat,’_ that he’s stuck up on the mirrors all around the training room, “But it doesn’t seem to be working. So”-he breaks off with a wave of his hands and suddenly Molly and he appear outside a town hall that is full of other people doing the Tango-“I’ve brought her here to see if it helps.” You watch a short clip of them meeting some of the other couples and practicing beside them. 

 

“I think I'm going to do much better now,” Molly says, looking determinedly at the camera. 

 

You hope that her words will prove true and as the music- _‘Sweet Dreams’_ by _Eurythmics_ -starts up and Kevin, clothed all in black with his gelled hair flopping over his forehead begins to grab hold of Molly-in a black and yellow dress, her hair in a chignon and black nails-and steer her about you watch with bated breath. There’s a couple of sharp head flicks, not as staccato as they could be but still good. Molly’s expression too is stern, only slipping occasionally. But then- _disaster!_ A stumble on the bottom left hand corner that leads to Molly nearly falling and losing all her composure. Your heart feels for her, especially when you can see how upset she is at the end of the dance. 

 

“I'm so sorry,” she murmurs as Kevin hugs her. 

 

“Don’t worry about it.”

 

“Come on over you two,” Tess says, wearing a sympathetic smile upon her face.

 

They do so a little reluctantly, Molly still looking anxious and Kevin wearing a tight smile. 

 

You almost close your eyes as Tess goes to Mycroft first. He shoots you a smile that’s quizzically amused, before seeing his opportunity he says, “I think F/N’s hoping that I'm going to be nice to you.”

 

“Now Mycroft,” Tess warns, pointing a finger at him and not wanting there to be any repeat of last week. She’s used to dealing with disputes between the judges but that had been too much even for her. Your eyes open wider.

 

“But I'm going to have to be honest I'm afraid and say that, that did not go well.” You turn your head to him and open your mouth. _“Wait,”_ he holds a finger up, sensing your reaction without even looking at you. The audience laughs. He smiles wryly. “But actually, before that major slip up I’d been quite enjoying it”-

 

“Prat,” you squeak without being able to help it, slapping at his arm. You quickly withdraw your hand when you realize what you’ve done and blush. Mycroft chuckles, but soon desists when your face darkens. 

 

Still that act alone is enough for Tess to say, “Laughing now,” in amazement. 

 

Mycroft smiles, before he addresses Molly, “You’d been able to get yourself into character much more than I’d been expecting you to and whilst it didn't have all the drive that it could have done it was a respectable effort.” He shoots a small smile at you, but frowns when all it does is cause your lips to twitch downward unpleasantly. 

 

“F/N?” Tess says. “Pleased with Mycroft’s words?”

 

“I suppose so,” you say, keeping yourself guarded and cursing yourself for acting without thinking. Mycroft’s face grows more serious. He wishes that he could know what to do to get you on side, and not only that but to unlock you.   
“I wouldn't worry about what happened at all,” you go on, determined to give Molly some proper feedback and reassure her, “We all make mistakes and you have absolutely got the right foundations to be a more than capable dancer.”

 

“The right foundations,” Tess nudges at Molly’s hip promisingly. Molly lets out a fluttery laugh. “Bruno?”

 

“Oh my darling,” Bruno says with a smile that’s full of pity as he claps his hands together, “Well it is like they said really. It was all going so promisingly up until that point. But don’t take it to heart, brush yourself down and come back stronger than ever.” Molly nods, looking hopeful. 

 

“Len, do you think Molly’s in danger of facing the dance-off after this?” Tess asks, biting at her lip. 

 

Len tilts his head consideringly. “No I don’t,” he says finally, straightening his head up again, “Because I could see, just from those first few bars you did and before all of that happened”-he waves his hands as if there’s no need to talk about that mistake any longer and the audience gives a tittering laugh of appreciation-“That everything was heading down the right track and I think that the audience will have seen that too and be understanding of it.” Molly nods, but she still looks a little uncertain about what might be to come and you get the sense that she’s going to worry herself silly between the two shows. 

 

All the judges go on to award them a six and then later, and last, but not least it’s Greg’s turn. This week he’s doing a Samba and Janette’s been working him harder than ever in the training room. 

 

“She’s really been bringing the whip out this week,” Greg says, looking a little frazzled with messy hair and bulging eyes towards the camera. The collar of his grey t-shirt is soaked with sweat. Janette playfully shouts at him in the background to stop chatting so that they can go again. You think that you can hear Sherlock’s baritone chuckle in response, hidden on the other side of the camera and it makes you smile. You miss the way that Mycroft frowns beside you when he catches sight of such a thing. 

 

Greg comes out wearing a slashed black shirt that reveals his toned, hairless chest with loose dark trousers that have a red stripe down them. Janette’s wearing a short, light dress that’s a mix of orange, pink and gold and as soon as the song comes on- _‘Whenever, Wherever,’_ by _Shakira_ -it’s like the party starts in the studio. You bob your head in between writing your notes and Mycroft, who would usually find such a thing annoying finds that he can only frown a little at that. As the heated dance finishes and Greg and Janette come to join Tess though and Mycroft’s eyes slide to yours to see that you’ve got a blush upon your face as your eyes trail down to linger on Greg’s glimmering chest, before they dart up again he scowls. His fingers scrape against his notebook and he clears his throat loudly. You shift your position and a look that’s somewhere between embarrassed and defiant comes over your face. Everyone might be pushing Mycroft and you together and you might have made progress with him tonight and feel like you have a better understanding of him now, but the fact is that you’re not together and you’re still allowed to look at other men all you like. Mycroft is not happy about it though. In fact his mind hums with it all angrily in the background all through Bruno and Len’s comments and when Tess goes to you and you start fanning yourself with your notebook with a bit of a grin upon your face a tornado practically grows up inside him and his expression becomes a very ugly one indeed. 

 

“You needed to come up much more on the balls of your feet to create that classic Samba bounce action,” he begins when Tess goes to him, rifling through his notebook as if he’s got copious amounts of them from that dance alone when in reality he’s only got a few. Seeing such a thing from your position you frown. The audience, sensing a great disparity between what the other judges have said and what Mycroft currently is, boo loudly. Tess pulls a bit of a face. “You never created that Samba roll action”-another boo-“And for me there really could have been a lot more steps to it. I felt as if you took this week off, something which you really can’t afford to do in this competition.”

 

“Right,” Tess says with a bit of a disapproving look. She turns to Greg. “Well, three out of four isn't bad,” she tells him. Greg nods. “Go up and join Claudia.”

 

Greg and Janette make to do so and you turn to Mycroft with a bit of a frown upon your face. But as Mycroft twists to look at you calculatingly you let out a bit of a sniff, avoid his gaze and concentrate on tapping in your own score. 

 

Feeling angrier than ever Mycroft opens his mouth, but before he can say anything the announcer says, “The judges have their scores. Mycroft Holmes.”

 

Mycroft turns away from you to face the front with a bit of a frustrated look upon his face. He lifts up his paddle. “Four.”

 

You scowl at him and Mycroft feels like he’s just been kicked in the stomach. He feels even more uncomfortable when the other judges and you all go on to give Greg an ‘eight.’ At this rate he’ll be booted off the show for blatantly under marking and not carrying out his job fairly no matter what happens between him and you. He frowns and as the show comes to an end he barely sways behind you, whilst Len and you do your ‘Keep dancing,’ dance, for his mind is elsewhere. He feels like it’s high time that the reality of the situation penetrated through that thick skull of yours and if it won’t, like it seems determined not to, then he’ll have to make you see it for once and for all.   
When you make to head backstage, carrying his pocket-handkerchief reluctantly-no doubt you’re intending to wash it, before you hand it back to costume-his eyes lock onto you and he follows after you. His heart works on every other beat as he fails to catch up with you because of all the other people constantly walking between you and you slip inside your dressing room, before he can. He switches the microphone that is attached to his suit off and lets the door of your dressing room fall shut, before he steps in front of it himself. He looks to the left and right quickly and then storms confidently inside. 

 

You’re in front of the mirror and your hand has only just gone up to your hair when you notice him behind you. You let out a bit of a sharp breath and spin around, your hands going behind you and your fingers going to clutch at the edge of the dressing table. Your heart skips a beat at his intense expression.

 

He takes in the fact that the pocket-handkerchief is now on the dressing table, before his eyes go back to you and he asks, “Is your microphone off?” You nod and without any further ado he huffs out, “So, is this really how things are going to be? You’re just going to carry on acting as if there aren't going to be any consequences for you not doing anything? Carry on messing about and being a fool with Bruno, John, Greg and even my brother?” 

 

“Are you jealous?” you ask him incredulously. “Jealous of men that I have no interest in? One of them who’s gay?” 

 

Mycroft clears his throat and brushes himself down. He does not need you pointing out how silly his mind is being about Bruno, but every time he sees the man with you he feels this prickling of discontent that he can’t control. “I’ve explained my situation before. My eyes, no matter how much I wish I could exchange them”-

 

“Like what they see,” you finish, looking at him levelly. He stares at you. “Yes I know, but what I don’t know is that there’s no other reason for you doing this other than to keep Moriarty happy. That’s what I'm not convinced about.” 

 

He lets out a breath and takes a step forwards. You swallow. “I believe one of the main things driving you away from me at the moment is fear,” he tells you. Your mouth opens. “Look at it another way then,” Mycroft says, drawing himself up when he sees that more work is required. “If I was just operating for Moriarty, to try and keep him happy, because, like you imply, he’s got something on me, don’t you think that I would have given up by now?”

 

“It depends on how high the stakes are,” you say, though your mind automatically goes back to what Mary and Bruno have previously said. 

 

Mycroft huffs out a breath. You really are very trying sometimes. “You have just proved my previous point,” he says. “You are scared and trying to cling onto any excuse that you can think of for why we should not be together.”

 

“Do you blame me?” You push further back into the dressing room table. 

 

“No,” he murmurs silkily, stepping closer. Your breath hitches inside your chest. “You’re new, finding it difficult to comply with how the show is run, and we both know that there’s a deeper reason for all of your reluctance, whether you’ll tell it to me or not.” He pauses. “But for your own good you need to recognize how things are now.” He leans forwards, lifts up a hand and runs it gently through your hair. You tilt back. You can feel something trembling inside you. “I will not force myself on you. I am not that man, and aside from words I have not used any other tactics to try and push through Moriarty’s agenda. That in itself is perhaps a testament that no matter what I have said previously I respect you.” You nod shakily. “But surely you know that the British public and Mike Stamford amongst them particularly seem to think that we have chemistry?”

 

“That doesn’t matter to me,” you say, pushing him back.

 

“No,” Mycroft says with a knowing ruefulness, “I expect that even if your beloved mother”-he glances at the photo you’ve got of her on your dressing room table and you turn your head to look at it too, before you look back at him-“Said that we should be together then you wouldn't necessarily listen to her no matter how much you loved her. I know it would be no hardship either for you to let me down. That you’d do so in a heartbeat if you thought it were the right thing to do, no matter what the consequences for me might be. But are you really”-he steps forwards again-“Going to let your stubborn desire to not do as Moriarty wishes and all your doubts keep you from getting what you want?”

 

“I don’t”- 

 

“Yes you do.” His hand goes to your arm now and runs down it. You shiver without being able to help it, yet as soon as Mycroft looks pleased by the thing you clamp down hard upon your lip with your teeth. “You _do_ want me. You want to explore this possibility as much as I do.” You let out an involuntary breath, feeling like he’s waking you up as much as your morning shower would. “I can see how your body’s reacting now, watch your pupils dilate, feel your pulse”-his hand twists to do so and you feel like you’re barely breathing-“I can tell therefore that part of you finds me attractive despite all those things that you said before. Could it be that men with thinning hair, big noses and barely any lips are what you go for?” he asks you with a wry smile. He places his hands upon your waist and you swallow. “If all that’s true then are you really going to deny yourself me and everything that we could be just because you’re scared? You weren’t scared on the first day we met. I challenged you and I’ve done so since. You've met me every step of the way. Will you deny yourself?” 

 

Suddenly what he’s saying and the suggestion of it all makes perfect sense to you and it’s clear, for one stark moment, that you should be together. “No,” you say in answer to his question. 

 

“What was that?” Mycroft asks you, and you can see the sharpness of those blue eyes and the line of the wry smile that his lips are capable of springing into-that they’re very nearly in now in fact-see those eyelashes. 

 

_“No,”_ you say in a louder tone, before finally, in one long release of breath, you swoop upwards and press your lips to his. 

 

Mycroft’s hands come up to catch you, resting just beneath the sides of your breasts, before they move down again to your waist. His hands are like a waterfall against your body. They send you writhing against him and gasping against his lips. Whilst the feel of your hot breath reacting against him starts a fire inside all of his cold and makes him want more even though he risks getting burnt. Your hands fly up against his cheeks, sending a groan reverberating right through him, right from his throat to the tips of his toes. He pushes against you and whilst both of your lips nip against each other’s he raises his own hands, running them until they free your hair and make you vocalize your passion against him, sending something swirling up inside him like a hurricane that is collecting everything in its path with reckless abandon. He bites down on your bottom lip, causing your eyes to close even tighter and a small sound to escape you as you open your mouth for him. His fingers rub circles into your cheeks encouragingly as his tongue explores its new domain, tasting sparks and fire and ashes and that intoxicating sweet after taste that is purely you. He groans. One of your hands falls onto his shoulder, your fingers rubbing and clinging onto it, whilst your other hand comes to caress at the hair that’s on the nape of his neck. Neither of you have felt anything like it, like an entire universe is being created around you both just from all those glorious first touches. 

 

In fact Mycroft’s hands only slide back down to your waist and he only wrenches his mouth away from yours when he becomes hazily aware that Phillip Anderson is saying through the tannoy system: “…that’s F/N L/N to the make-up room please.” Mycroft and you just about hear that over your heavy breathing. Your eyes slide to each other, both of you with parted mouths. Your hair is loose, rumpled and your face couldn't be any more prettily flushed, but Mycroft senses that he doesn’t have time to admire such things now. The results show he sees with a quick check of his watch is due to start being recorded in ten minutes and neither he nor you are dressed in what you should be. 

 

As you stand up a little straighter and push against him his hands go to support your back, sending sparks through you both when they come to briefly rest upon the part of your back that is not covered by the dress and you shuddering a little, letting out a little sound. You cling onto his tie to righten yourself. Mycroft looks down at you softly for a moment and you stroke at his tie, before you push it back towards his chest with a blush upon your face when you realize what it is that you’re doing. 

 

“Where do you live?” he asks. You quickly explain. “That’s closer than mine,” he mutters, thinking out loud. “Do you have a back door?” You nod, looking at him a little tentatively. “Could we continue this?” A slow smile blossoms across your face and knowing what the answer is Mycroft murmurs, “I’ll be around just gone midnight. You can trust me. I don’t want the press seeing us.” You shiver, letting out a little fluttery breath, before you’re left there a moment later, wondering what had just happened with your head spinning as he lets go of you with a tight smile, turns and leaves. 

 

Blowing out a breath you turn around and flatten your hair, smoothing out your dress because there’s no time to get changed into the other one now, the one that’s hung there all the time, whilst you’d kissed and writhed against Mycroft. You hurry to the make-up room. 

 

Sally takes one look at you and instantly raises her eyebrows, not only at your flushed appearance but also at the fact that you’re in the same dress. 

 

“Sorry,” you mutter, “I had to take a call and I couldn't just hang up”-

 

“Someone important?” she asks. 

 

“My mum,” you say with a bit of an edge to your tone. You feel bad about using your mum in that way, but it’s a good excuse all the same. Saying that though you’re not sure that Sally believes you, but in any case there’s little time for her to doubt you now.

 

“I might be able to do something different to your hair,” she nods, though as she takes you in more she adds, “You should keep it down more though. Perhaps we’ll do that next week. It’s a good look on you.” You flush. “I take it that Mycroft agrees?” Your mouth opens and closes. Your eyes go wide. “Kept a lot of secrets remember?” Sally tells you, almost pulling you forwards forcefully, so that you can sit down in the closest chair. Her fingernails scratch against your scalp as she grabs at your hair and you let out a bit of a hiss.

 

“How could you know that?” you mutter, blinking a little to get rid of the water that’s accumulated in your eyes. 

 

“Saw him going into your dressing room on my way to collect something, before I came back here. Why do you think that I got Anderson to call for you over the system instead of sending someone to your dressing room? In any case what with the way that you were interacting with each other earlier I can’t say that I'm surprised.”

 

You blush. “We didn't”-

 

“I don’t need details,” she says, taking her eyes off your hair for a moment so that she can meet your eyes through the mirror. “Just be careful okay? He is called the Iceman after all.” You nod. 

 

*

 

You go out in the end in the same dress with a silver hair clip in your hair holding the front of it down in a fringe that has no side-parting, whilst the rest of it fans out from the back of your head. Your make-up’s been touched up and you feel fresher though your heart’s still racing from what had happened before and from the prospect of what will be occurring later. 

 

“Oh my darling is everything all right?” Bruno says when you join him backstage. You’ll be going out with him this time and he’s in a grey suit with a dark brown shirt and pocket-handkerchief and black tie. If anything the blush that’s on your face just becomes all the more apparent. “You’re still wearing the same dress, not that you don’t look lovely or anything, but you’re also looking a little flushed.”

 

“Oh,” you say, fidgeting with your fringe, “Um yeah I just got a”-

 

He lays a hand on your arm to stop your rambling. You find it hard to lie to him. He’s been so good to you. “You’ll be careful?” He looks at you intently and you know that he knows. “What you choose to do is your business. I know that if you have chosen to give your heart to him, even a little, then it is because you truly wish to and it is real. There is not a manipulative bone in your body my darling,” he squeezes you reassuringly, “But I still would like it if your eyes were open here. Like I said before I do not know what his angle is. Do you?”

 

You shake your head, but you try to explain, “I think there’s more to him than what any of us have seen before. I think its started to come through now that I'm on the show and I think that it can continue to do so.” You cling onto that hope, needing that now and not all the negativity that you’d been determined to hold onto before. 

 

“Perhaps,” Bruno says, cautious as ever. He presses at your arm again and leans closer to you with some urgency. “But do not be so foolish to think that you can change him. Melt the heart of the Iceman yes, if that is what you wish, and show that other side of him, but do not think that you can keep it in the light forever. Sooner or later the real Mycroft will come through and perhaps Mycroft doesn’t even know which part of him it will be himself yet, but I just hope for your sake my darling that it will be the one that you want.” You swallow and nod at him, feeling tentative. 

 

Your cue to come on arrives and you step out. You half-glance across as you do a twirl beneath Bruno’s arm and see that Mycroft’s changed into a navy suit, black shirt and tie and the dark colours make his eyes, which glance across at you also, pop out even more. You swallow. It’s a good look on him. 

 

Once you take your seat and sit down next to him you see the way that his fingers twitch slightly as they rest upon his leg, as if they’re itching to just break the distance between you and feel your flesh. Longing for his hands on you also, you swallow. 

 

The most testing part of the show as far as your desire is concerned though comes during _‘Len’s Lens’_ -the part of the show where the judges sit with Claudia and look at the footage of some of the dances that evening in a close-up fashion with a special camera that’s been operated by Sherlock throughout the night. As you go in you feel Mycroft’s eyes on your back. You sit in between Len and him, whilst Bruno sits on Mycroft’s other side and you can feel the heat sparking between you both once more as his leg ‘accidentally’ brushes against yours for the briefest of moments. You swallow and feel like a blush is now permanently fixed to your face. 

 

“Welcome to our judges,” Claudia says, “Now F/N,” she looks at you and you worry for one moment that she, like Sally, knows too, “You’re new to all this but even you must know that we can’t do this section alone.” You nod in relief. You _do_ know that. 

 

“Len’s Lens,” comes a booming voice on the wide screen that you’ll be looking at the footage through and you see a funny clip of a grinning, close-up Len that’s been taken using the special camera. 

 

You clap with all the other judges and you can feel Mycroft smirking beside you. He’s never had the chance to have so much fun during this segment before and he intends to make the most of it now. He shifts his position, so that the top of his thigh and yours come to rub together ever so slightly. Your breath hitches inside your chest. 

 

Claudia closes her eyes dramatically for a moment as the sound fades. She nods and her fringe bounces. “Right, so Len I need to talk to you about the dance Molly and Kevin did. It was all coming along so promisingly and then”- she breaks off and dips her hand downward. 

 

“Ah,” Len says with feeling as the footage of Molly stumbling is played again. It looks even worse close-up and you grimace. “Yes it was really, up until that point I thought it was going quite well.”

 

“She’s yet to get through, but if she does then how can she improve?” Claudia says, looking at the head judge intently with her legs crossed and her hand supporting her head. 

 

“Well,” Len says, pulling a bit of a face, “By giving it plenty of welly and by being more confident to carry on when things go wrong.”

 

You smile at that and Claudia does too. “Molly I hope you heard that,” she says, before she answers herself with a nod. “She did,” she adds and you laugh. “Now F/N I must talk about Vera and Anton with you because your reaction was so great. It really got to you didn't it?”

 

“It did,” you smile. 

 

“I hope that you gave Mycroft his pocket-handkerchief back?” she asks, looking between you. 

 

“It’s in my dressing room waiting to be washed,” you assure her, before you can’t help but add, “It was very kind of him.” You squeeze at Mycroft’s knee instinctively and you only withdraw your hand in a lingering fashion once you feel him stiffening beneath you. 

 

“Oh it’s so beautiful,” Claudia says when footage of Vera and Anton is played again. To your relief she doesn’t seem to have paid all that much attention to the interaction between Mycroft and you. 

 

“Enchanting,” Bruno murmurs and you know that he’s trying to get the attention off the both of you even more. You smile. 

 

“Now Mycroft,” Claudia says more sternly, “You were a bit harsh to our favourite footballer and I need to tell you off for that.”

 

Knowing after the conversation you’d had with him earlier that Mycroft had marked emotionally earlier just like after you’d rejected him in your dressing room before you try and joke, “I think it was because he’d run out of his favourite sweets to eat before the show and by that point he was really flagging.” You pat at Mycroft’s leg again and Bruno lets out a bit of an exaggerated laugh. 

 

“Ah, is that what it was?” Claudia nods, winking wisely. “I like it, I think you’ve paid him back for him letting you borrow the pocket-handkerchief with that defence there F/N.” You smile a little at that and wriggle about a bit uncomfortably. “In that case we’ll have to make sure that, that never happens again.”

 

“Give him extra then he’ll give out some tens,” you can’t help but grin. 

 

You miss the way that Mycroft’s lips twitch upward as he peers down at you. He’s appreciative for the acceptance that you’re showing him. 

 

“Wise words there from our new judge,” Claudia says, bringing _‘Len’s Lens,’_ to an end. Molly, Greg and Vera thankfully all get through to the next week and then the first difficult choice comes where you have to choose between two of the other dancers. You don’t like doing it, but you’re grateful when it’s made easier when one of the celebrities clearly outperforms the other in the dance off. Then the show’s ending, you’re changing back into your casual clothes, your heart beating as you transform from glamorous Strictly judge to just you once more and as you go home you find yourself waiting not for a phone call, but for a man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: Your feelings grow all the more complicated.


	5. What Moriarty Knows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whilst Irene upsets Sally your feelings grow all the more complicated and they're not helped when you find out what Moriarty knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your support! :) 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

“God being under that spotlight and waiting to hear your name being called out was pretty frightening wasn’t it?” Greg says, stopping in front of Molly in the corridor. He’s already changed and she’s just on her way to do so. She nods, eyeing him a little uncertainly. “Listen,” he says, grasping lightly at her arm and her eyes widen. He swallows. He’s barely touching her, but her skin feels as smooth and soft as satin underneath his fingertips. “I know that you probably just think that I'm a stupid footballer who doesn’t know all that much and gets paid far more than he should”-

 

“Oh, no I don’t,” Molly interrupts him hurriedly and Greg’s mouth contracts, whilst his heart skips a beat in hope. “I'm so sorry,” Molly goes on, “I know it was rather rude that I didn't reply when you wished me luck before and everything.” Her hands fidget nervously. “It was like I was having an out of body experience or something and I didn't realize properly what you’d said until it was too late. Please don’t think badly of me, it was just the nerves. Tonight was terrifying. I was so relieved when they called my name, yours too,” she looks up at him imploringly. 

 

“Good,” Greg smiles, “Well, perhaps I’ll see you around then.”

 

“I’d like that,” Molly says, nodding vigorously and the two exchange another smile, before they leave one another. 

 

* 

 

You pace around the kitchen. You've already changed your outfit four times and alternated between putting your hair up and down. Now you’re wearing a loose fitting white t-shirt, a shawl of the same colour which you keep getting annoyed with, but which you won’t take off because you find playing with the soft fake fur of it soothing and dark leggings that cling skin-tight to your legs. Your feet are bare aside from the casual dark shoes that you’re wearing. A rapidly cold growing cup of tea sits upon the kitchen island and every now and again you go across and wrap your hands around it as if you’re testing its temperature. Each time you frown a little, before you move away again. You stop your march and swing your head to look at the clock. It’s already half-past-one and there’s no sign of Mycroft. You lift your hand to adjust your hair, which is now in a loose ponytail and bound by a single dark blue hair band. You swallow. Perhaps Mycroft’s changed his mind. Perhaps he’s not coming. Perhaps he regrets what had happened between you in the dressing room and now doesn’t want to take things any further. 

 

“God I hate waiting!” you shout in frustration as all those doubts creep back in. You tug your hair band angrily out of your hair and throw it towards the floor. 

 

“Perhaps in that case we should get started then?” comes a very amused sounding voice. 

 

You whirl around at once. _“Mycroft,”_ you breathe when you see the smirking man leaning against the other end of the kitchen island, his ankles crossed and his blue eyes glittering. He’s wearing a mid-length black coat and a blue scarf over his suit and his face looks flushed from the cold. 

 

“Forgive me for my tardiness,” he murmurs, walking around in an arc and coming closer to you, “I came on time, but I spotted reporters lurking close by and they only just departed.”

 

He steps right in front of you now and you take one of his hands in yours. “You’re cold,” you murmur, grasping onto it even more. 

 

He presses a little closer to you, grateful for the heat that your body’s emitting. “Well, you know what they call me,” he reminds you in a soft tone, brushing at your hair. You’re not sure that you believe in that nickname as much any more, but everything has been happening too fast for you to even be able to think straight and so you don’t have enough confidence to utter such a thing. Knowing that and wanting to get your mind off it Mycroft makes you shiver instead when his thumb catches against your cheek on its way down. “Shall we?” he says. 

 

Your eyes fix on his. Both of your bodies thrum with the knowledge that this is the last point where retreat’s a viable option, where you can safely withdraw before either of your hearts get any more corrupted by the other. “Yes,” you let out a little fluttery breath. 

 

“In that case,” Mycroft murmurs, pressing you back gently against the kitchen island with his hands. His head swoops against the side of yours, sending you breathless, before he draws back into a kiss. His lips only nibble on yours teasingly though, before they pull away once more. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” his eyes shine against yours. 

 

“I could say the same to you,” you breathe coquettishly. As Mycroft’s lips join with yours once more, prying you into an open-mouthed kiss in between the little sounds that you can’t help but make your hands come up and push against his coat, pulling it apart and sneaking inside. You feel the soft material of a waistcoat beneath and you groan. “You've dressed up,” you murmur as you pull away. 

 

“I had a special engagement,” Mycroft says, twisting his head suddenly so that he can attend to your neck. 

 

You let out a gasp and your eyes pop as your hands grab onto his shoulders, feeling the slight dampness that’s there from the rain that you hadn’t even realized had started to fall. “Upstairs,” you mutter, pushing against him. You feel him hesitating a little against your neck, but instead of pulling back and obeying he makes to suck a mark there. “Mycroft, upstairs,” you whine, gripping onto him, winding your arms around his neck and pushing against him more impatiently. 

 

“My, my,” he says, pulling away finally, “If we were as persistent in our quest for quality as a judge as we are with our demands then we’d be a very good one indeed wouldn't we?” 

 

“Hush,” you say, not liking him teasing you and making to kiss him so that you don’t have to look at his face, but Mycroft dodges, ducks and before you know what’s happening he’s lifting you up so that you come to be lying sideways in his arms. _“Mycroft!”_ you let out a bit of a laugh and bat at his arm. 

 

“Hush,” Mycroft repeats, jerking his head towards next door though he looks at you rather softly. You nod and raise a finger to your lips to show that you’ve understood. He moves your finger gently aside with his hand, before he kisses first the edge of your mouth, then you properly on the lips and then on the other side. It’s so tender that you feel like you’re being sucked into a whirlpool and you don’t even mind. 

 

“Upstairs,” you breathe again, your head swooping down to rest upon his shoulder. You close your eyes in satisfaction and he kisses at your forehead, before he makes to move you both out of the kitchen. You direct him to your bedroom, feeling content and a little sleepy in his warm embrace, but as soon as he nudges the door of it open with his foot you open your eyes promptly and become properly awake again because you hear a hiss. _Ah,_ that could be a problem you think. 

 

“The light?” Mycroft queries, sounding a little anxious and you think that he’s probably heard the noise too. 

 

“On the right, but if you just swing around then I can reach for it,” you inform him. 

 

Mycroft does just that, swivelling on his heel and you lean as far as you dare out of his arms, feeling for the switch. One of Mycroft’s hands goes close to your stomach to keep you from falling. Finally you locate the switch and flip it down. 

 

Once Mycroft’s turned back around and you’ve adjusted in his arms it’s to find that Midnight’s standing on top of the white duvet, his back arched. He lets out another hiss, his eyes going in between Mycroft and you threateningly. 

 

Mycroft eyes the cat himself for a moment, adjusting his stance, so that he becomes more grounded. “What should I do?” he murmurs, ducking his head close to yours but with one eye still on Midnight. 

 

“You’ll have to put me down.” Mycroft chuckles as if you’ve just told him to put you into shark-infested waters. “No really,” you tell him. 

 

“Oh,” Mycroft says, before he checks, “Are you sure?” You nod and he quickly bends so that you can stand on the floor. 

 

“It’s the only way that we’ll be able to get rid of him,” you look at Mycroft apologetically, before you turn a more serious gaze onto your cat. You open the bedroom door some more. “Out,” you point firmly. To your amusement Mycroft shifts across to give you some more space, but Midnight doesn’t move at all. He just gazes at you unblinkingly, his mouth bared in a pant. _“Out_ Midnight,” you try again. Still Midnight doesn’t move and flushing with both embarrassment and impatience now you go across, grab the cat by the scruff of his neck and attempt to haul him out of there. Typical, you finally get a chance to sleep with a man that you want to and your cat wants to block you from doing so. Midnight lets out a yowl of protest, wriggles and leaves three long scratch marks against your arm. You let out a gasp that results in you dropping Midnight and in Mycroft taking an automatic step towards you. “Stay there unless you want to get scratched up too,” you point, half-bent and slightly breathless now. Your arm sears with the sharp shock of pain. Mycroft falters, before he watches as Midnight stalks past him and walks out the door. 

 

“Are you hurt?” Mycroft says, coming towards you at once and grasping lightly at your affected arm. You let out a hiss of pain as his finger traces the cuts, but your eyes find themselves more fascinated with the grave look of concern that’s upon his face. Seeing him unguarded like this makes you like him all the more. 

 

“No,” you shake your head softly. 

 

“He’s protective,” Mycroft looks at you, looking as if he’s not quite sure what to make of such a thing, “Which is good,” he decides, brushing at your hair. “He may be a vicious creature, but I’d rather that you had the fiercest cat in the world than one who doesn’t care for you.” His words make you feel even more enamoured with him.

 

“I’ve had him since he was a kitten,” you breathe, your arms crossing around the back of his neck. “Its just been us.”

 

Mycroft’s lips nip at yours. “There’s been no one else?” he checks. 

 

You hesitate a moment. “Only every now and again,” you conclude. 

 

“But no one”-

 

“No,” you murmur. _No one who’s made my heart beat like this in an age. No one who’s been capable of drawing such strong emotions out of me, whose made me feel so angry, so lustful…no one whose scared me as much as you._ All those thoughts continue in your head until you come out of them at last to see that his blue eyes are fixed on you steadily. 

 

“Good,” he says as you step back. Your heart wavers. “I mean not good if you haven’t wanted it to be that way,” he reads you successfully, “But _good…”_

 

“Good for you, you mean,” you say, before you smile without being able to help it when his gaze becomes more predatory. “You should take that coat and scarf off,” you say, “I want to see you.” Your eyes dance over him, light but firm. 

 

Mycroft swallows and his pulse quickens. He slips off his scarf at the same time that you kick your shoes off. Your eyes go back to fix on the others as if you’re dancing a Tango all of your own making. Mycroft’s throat bobs again. He looks around for somewhere to deposit his scarf, but you go up to him and push it out of his hand with knowing, parted lips, finding his want to be neat amusing but unnecessary right now. 

 

“May I?” he taps at your shawl. You nod and with his eyes on you calculatingly he shuffles forwards so that he’s against you, before he lifts the shawl above your head and tosses it on to the floor. 

 

“Not so careful with my possessions,” you smile, turning and throwing a playful smile at him over your shoulder. Mycroft eyes you steadily. You lift your t-shirt up over your head in one fluid movement and throw it on the floor. You hear a jerk of breath escaping Mycroft’s lips and then the thud of his dark coat hitting the floor a moment later, but you don’t turn around. You just wait. You hear a creak, as if Mycroft’s slipping out of both his shoes and socks and then movement, before hands that are slowly warming come to rest delicately on your waist from behind you. You shiver. 

 

“You’re beautiful,” Mycroft murmurs, acknowledging the fact that he’d already felt to be true. He slides his hands around to your stomach and ducks his head down. You writhe against him slightly as you feel his hair brush against your neck. He applies a delicate kiss to your shoulder and rubs his thumb over that same spot a moment later as if he’s trying to do what only fire can and water can’t and sear the mark he’s just made into your very soul. “I want to see you,” Mycroft says at the exact same time that you want more. 

 

But, still feeling a bit nervous and wary about trusting yourself with him completely you ask, “How much have you still got on?”

 

“My suit.”

 

“Take your jacket and waistcoat off. Then I’ll turn around.” You bite on your lip. 

 

There’s silence for a moment and then a rustling of noise as Mycroft makes to do what you’d asked. To lighten the mood he says, “So very demanding my dear,” and you feel laughter threatening to rise inside you again. Apart from a brief wobble of your shoulders you manage to contain it. “All right,” Mycroft murmurs softly once his items have joined his coat and scarf on the floor. Slowly you turn around and as Mycroft’s large hand comes towards you, you close your eyes. It comes first against your cheek, cupping it and you let out a breath. Then it drifts against your neck, barely touching it and drapes down against your collarbone. One of his fingers prods at it, tracing over the lines that define it. You feel him placing a kiss there in the next moment and it makes you smile, before you open your eyes again. “Beautiful,” Mycroft breathes as he looks at you. 

 

Still smiling softly you undo the blue tie that’s dangling down from his neck and let it join the other garments on the floor. You start to undo the buttons on his white shirt, whilst Mycroft peers down at you all the while. Once you’ve gotten them all undone rather than asking for his permission you run a hand beneath one side of the shirt without being able to help it, feeling the contour of him like dancers feel the line of the floor with their toes. You marvel at how warm his chest feels and how easily tangled your hand gets in his hair, barely being able to move fluidly without it doing so. Mycroft’s chest jerks suddenly and you look at him. He’s got his mouth slightly open and a rather frozen, still expression in his eyes as if your fire has scorched him and sent him into temporary shock. You press your lips to his and you cannot know but it sends a flare of warmth right through him, bringing him back to life once more. His arms come up, going to stroke at your cheeks a couple of times encouragingly, but you need little now and they soon drift back down to your waist again. You move together, responding against each other in kind until the backs of your legs come to be hitting the side of the bed. You fall down on top of it, bringing Mycroft with you and you both twist around, you gasping and feeling like you’re drowning as Mycroft comes to be lying securely on top of you, his body pressing yours down as if to the ocean floor. You can barely breathe, let alone think as everything about his presence, the coconut scent of him and his remaining clothes weigh you down. Each touch sends a spark right through you; even the slightest shift of his legs or arms as he finishes undressing and helps you do so makes you shudder and gasp, and when the pair of you are finally naked and Mycroft kisses first down the edge of your face then down the side of you, you can’t take it any more. You just want to succumb, do the thing that all this has been building up to and let him rob you of every breath if that is what he should wish. 

 

“More,” you mutter, arching against him frantically and he looks at you with his own face flushed so beautifully and his eyes shining with life, before he moves back and pushes your legs apart with precision. He presses a kiss on the inside of your thigh. 

 

“That’s not what I meant,” you gasp, though you can hardly complain when he adds more kisses and they feel like the most beautiful of raindrops splattering against your skin. 

 

“To be fair,” Mycroft tilts his head consideringly, “You never specified. You just said more.”

 

You could kick him in that moment and you let out a frustrated groan. “You live to torture me,” you tell him. 

 

“The feeling’s mutual.” He presses another kiss to your thigh and you jerk against him. He holds your waist down with his hands. 

 

_“More,”_ you growl, and as he lets out a chuckle you can tell that he’s got you right where he wants you and that he’s enjoying all this. Such a feeling sends a fiery spark through you. “Besides Mr. Director you should know what your cast members need from you just by looking at them. You shouldn't need specifics.”

 

“And yet I confess that I thought you weren’t one to be directed my dear,” Mycroft says, rolling around suddenly, so that you’re now the one on top of him and in a position to burn him with your fire.

 

You eye his face in satisfaction. “You thought right,” you tell him as Mycroft’s chest heaves beneath you and his hands come up so that his fingers can caress lightly at your breasts. You wriggle a little, before you peck him on the nose. 

 

“But,” Mycroft says, “I wouldn't be so good if I just gave up so easily.” He rolls you both back around and you make a sound of delicious protest. “Ready?” he asks. You hum and slowly he guides himself into you so that fire and ice can join together at last. 

 

*

 

“You smell of charred tinder,” Mycroft says a little stupidly once you’re both beneath the covers afterwards, Mycroft in his underwear and you in a loose fitting white nightdress, whilst he strokes at your hair. The both of you are lit only by the light of the bedside lamp. 

 

It’s not the best compliment that you’ve ever had, but you’ll take it. “You smell of coconut and sadness,” you say without thinking, but as soon as Mycroft sits up, the duvet coming down against his hip you realize what you’ve just said. You rise too, grasping at his arm and worried that you’ve spoilt the moment, “Mycroft I didn't”-

 

“It’s fine,” he tugs his arm away from you, but you can tell that it isn't as you remain rooted there, your eyes fixed on the light that slithers down the curve of his back. It runs right down to his dark blue boxer shorts. 

 

“Did this matter to you?” The words come out of you automatically, but as soon as you’ve said them you know that you want to know what the answer is. You might have just done one of the most intimate acts with him, but now, coming down from your high, you still feel like you can’t completely trust him. He looks back at you. Slowly he nods. 

 

“Of course,” he says hoarsely. 

 

You feel that neediness again. “It wasn’t just”-

 

“A means to an end?” Mycroft finishes when you break off. You duck your head. “No. Was it for you?” he asks. 

 

You look back up at him in astonishment. “What would I be using _you_ for?”

 

Mycroft shrugs. He feels the unhappiest he’s felt about you not being able to trust him. For some reason it hurts more than he’d ever thought it could. “I’ve got to go,” he murmurs, getting out of bed. 

 

“Already?” your face falls as he begins to get dressed. You look around as if you’re searching for a good reason that will make him stay. But, knowing that he’ll be gone, before you can come up with anything at the rate that your mind’s working, you say, “I”-

 

“It’s not sensible for me to stay the entire night,” he tells you, and you feel small and stupid again. He’s half-turned towards you as he quickly does up his white shirt. 

 

“Okay,” is all that you can manage, trying to cling onto that hope that Mycroft’s really this softer person who had made you see how things should be because he loves you and had wanted to snap you out of the fear that was holding you back for your own good, not just for his career or to please Moriarty but it’s wavering in front of you like the dust thrown up by the light. 

 

*

 

As Mycroft walks to find a taxi home he thinks that it’s typical that he’s managed to fall in love with someone who can’t even trust him.

 

* 

 

“I want you to do me a favour boys,” Moriarty says the following morning when he’s once more sitting next to Sebastian Moran in his office and this time facing Sherlock and John. John tenses at his words, but Sherlock just raises an uncommitted eyebrow. 

 

_“Yes?”_ the youngest cameraman says unenthusiastically. 

 

Moriarty’s lip twitches ever so slightly. “Now the show’s properly getting under way its come to light even more that there’s some interesting things we can take advantage of this year.” Sherlock swallows, already having an idea of what he means. “I’d like you both, when the contestants aren't doing anything spectacular of course, to focus your attentions on Mycroft and F/N.” A muscle twitches in Sherlock’s jaw. _“Oh,”_ Moriarty says when he catches it, “I do hope that your family loyalty doesn’t come before this show?”

 

Sherlock doesn’t say anything. 

 

John looks between them both. “I thought that the cameras would be better off being on the contestants? I appreciate that F/N and Mycroft have had some attention in the press but”-

 

“Exactly,” Moriarty says with such force as he drives one of his hands into the other. It makes John jump. “We should capitalize on it. It would be a failure of us not to do so. Unless”-his eyes go to Sherlock again-“You have any protests?” Again Sherlock doesn’t say anything. “Good.” Moriarty looks at them as if they’re worthless. “You’re free to go.”

 

*

 

**BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU.** Mycroft frowns down at the text that he’s just received from Sherlock. It’s not that he doesn’t get its meaning. He does, he just doesn’t approve of it.

 

He wonders if he should tell you that even more focus is going to be on you from now on. But, in the end, worried that it might put you off being in a relationship with him he doesn’t. You've already got one foot ready to run, best not give you any more reason to do so. 

 

* 

 

Your mother comes around the following evening, so that she can watch the results show with you. Once more she looks at you adoringly whenever the camera’s on you, but when she sees your behaviour with Mycroft during _‘Len’s Lens,’_ she looks at you sideways from where you’re sitting together on the settee, a bowl of nuts on the coffee table in front of you. “Hmm,” she says. You look back at her, trying not to think of the way that Mycroft had been over you the previous night. “Have you changed your mind about Mycroft then? Only,” she goes on a little tentatively, “I know that he was very sweet to you in giving you that pocket-handkerchief, but you seemed a little overly grateful just now.” She scrutinizes you with her eyes and you suddenly feel hot under the collar. 

 

“Well, y’know,” you fidget a little and look down at your lap rather than at her, “I wouldn't say I’ve changed my mind exactly, just…had further insight into his character is all.” Your mum lets out a little breath and you look at her quickly. _“Mum!”_ you blush. “It’s not like anything’s happened between us”-you feel a pang of guilt-“We've just got more respect for one another that’s all.”

 

“Well I'm glad,” your mother says, sounding far more amused and knowing than you’d like her too and you look away from her again hurriedly. 

 

It’s not only your mother who has noticed the change in Mycroft and you. _‘The weekend shows,’_ writes Kitty Riley that Monday, _‘Did nothing to stem the fevered speculation that surrounds Mycroft Holmes and F/N L/N. A lingering knee touch gifted to Mycroft by F/N during the results show has set social media alight with fans posting GIFs of the moment on Tumblr.’_

 

You've seen such GIFs yourself by that point and you let out a sigh when you read Kitty’s words because they just remind you of Mycroft’s darker side-the side that could have slept with you on Saturday night just because it would help further his career. 

 

*

 

“They want us to go on _‘It Takes Two’_ together,” is the first thing that Mycroft says once he phones you that Monday night. _‘It Takes Two,’_ is the fanzine show that runs from Monday to Friday featuring interviews with the couples and their celebrity fans. It’s hosted by Zoë Ball. 

 

“But I'm already going on it on Wednesday,” you protest, feeling a little irked but choosing to ignore the fact that he hadn’t even said hello to you, much less asked you how your day had been. Evidently Mycroft Holmes has got a lot to learn in the art of wooing you think. Once more you worry about why he’s actually doing this. 

 

“Yes,” Mycroft says, sounding a little harried, “They wanted me to go on it with you. I said that I already had prior commitments to do with my show and that I couldn't make it. It was hardly a lie. I am very busy.” You wonder if that’s his way of telling you that you’ll hardly be seeing any more of him than you do at the moment despite how things have grown between you. Your heart sinks. “I didn't think it wise that we appear on the show together. I’ve agreed to appear on it the Thursday after next instead.”

 

“Right,” you murmur. Then, feeling a sudden need to you say, “I-I'm sorry. I'm cooking at the moment and one of the saucepans is getting a bit out of hand. I'm going to have to go.”

 

“Of course,” Mycroft says, not acting as if he suspects that there’s anything wrong with you. You feel both irritated and grateful for such a thing, but most of all you feel worried and panicked. Have you made a really big mistake? Should you have listened to your first gut instinct and not your second? Away from him it’s easier to believe such a thing. 

 

*

 

**Is everything all right?** You receive the text from Mycroft when you’re sitting up in bed reading that night. You feel both glad for the small sign that he cares and not so because it brings everything back again and you’ve only just got yourself a bit calmer about it. **I know you were cooking earlier, but the way we left things just didn't sit right with me somehow.**

 

You hesitate in composing a reply. Should you tell him that you hadn’t been cooking? That you’d just used that as an excuse? Tell him your fears? But surely telling him that you still don’t trust him would lead to an argument? No matter what his true motivation is? In the end you just send: _Of course. Sorry if I made you think otherwise. I just find this situation a bit odd that’s all._

 

Mycroft doesn’t reply and you feel all the more worried. You can’t know that he’s already finding it hard not to be his cold, abrupt self and struggling to deal with the fact that you still don’t trust him. 

 

*

 

“Now F/N,” the blonde-haired Zoë Ball says to you on Wednesday when you’re sitting opposite her in a mid-length black and white dress with your hair a little curled as it hangs down the side of your face and your nails painted in black. She’s wearing black leggings and a very fluffy jumper of the same colour. “You can’t be oblivious to all the heated discussion that’s grown up around you and another judge who will remain nameless.” She winks and gives you a bit of a toothy grin, before she turns her head towards the camera and mouths excitedly, _‘Mycroft!’_

 

Feeling irked, but trying not to show it you shake your head. “No,” you say, “Of course not, but as flattering as it is to have all the attention and have people spending time on making all the things that they have people need to understand that they are wanting something, which is never going to happen. It’s just in their minds.” Just saying that feels like a betrayal, but just the pressure from knowing that Mycroft will be watching this interview intensely and will be sure to berate you if you slip up doesn’t give you much choice. 

 

Zoë pulls a bit of a disappointed face and crosses her legs. “But,” she says, leaning forwards, “Things _did_ seem a little better between you both last weekend, a little”-she pauses and tilts her head, her eyes raking upward towards the ceiling as she searches for the right word- _“Softer?”_

 

“Well,” you swallow, running your hands down towards your knees, whilst your heart flutters anxiously inside your chest, “We've gotten more used to working together now and so things have changed because of that. Besides,” you attempt to smile charmingly, “I can hardly open my mouth every time that I disagree with him or I’d be talking the whole show.” 

 

“Quite,” Zoë smiles, looking amused as she shows her teeth once more, before she asks, “So would you say that there’s more of a mutual respect between you now?”

 

“I’d settle for grudging,” you pull a bit of a face.

 

“But you’d be the first to tell us if things _did_ change?”

 

“Of course,” you agree, offering her a fake and rather tight smile.

 

Zoë though doesn’t seem to pick up on your reluctance. Instead she just says with the same enthusiasm, “Now stay with us F/N because for one week only Ian Waite is going to go over some routines with you. Ooh, you lucky thing!” She beams at you and you just nod, still feeling annoyed. In Zoë’s eyes though you might as well have just won the lottery and as she leads you over to a clear space of floor where professional dancer Ian is waiting she pats at your arm and says very fast, “Usually I’d be the one dancing with him, but I'm sure that you’re a much better dancer than me.” 

 

You force a smile at her and try and go along with the different ballroom steps that Ian’s got lined up for you to do as warmly as you can. You don’t enjoy any of it. 

 

*

 

“You could have been a bit firmer,” Mycroft tells you when he’s on the phone to you that night. 

 

“What?” you huff out an indignant breath unable to tell that he’d been jealous of seeing you dance with Ian. “You want me to yell at Zoë Ball now as well as you?”

 

“No of course not, but”-

 

“We’ll see how you do,” you conclude.

 

“You didn't exactly have to dance with Ian so eagerly either,” Mycroft says haughtily, unable to keep the main reason that he’s annoyed with you down any longer. 

 

_“Eagerly?”_ you say, feeling outraged. “Mycroft if you think that was eager then there must be something wrong with you! Did you even see my face?” Suddenly it clicks with you. “Or were you too busy watching where my hands were on his body?” Mycroft harrumphs, his face growing red and he feels glad that you can’t see him in that moment. “Besides I thought you’d be happy the more obvious I made our relationship to Zoë? Thought it would play right into your desires of pleasing our boss.”

 

“Do you really think that, that’s all that matters to me?” Mycroft asks, astonished with you for being so stupid.

 

“I don’t know. Is it?” you ask, almost holding your breath. “Are you ever going to tell why you’re really so frightened about losing this job?” 

 

“If you were to tell me why you were so afraid of going through with things in the first place then perhaps I might,” Mycroft counters. 

 

You disconnect the call automatically. Mycroft lets out a sigh on the other end. 

 

*

 

You don’t talk with or see Mycroft again until that Saturday and you spend the time in between worrying and feeling sick about it all. You hope that you haven’t really been as stupid as to play into Moriarty’s hands without any good reason. Hope that you haven’t imagined a more favourable side to Mycroft. 

 

But of course all your agonizing doesn’t exactly do wonders for when you _do_ see each other, making you shut up and settle for shooting him a terse look when you first encounter each other on the ballroom floor. 

 

Bruno, in his casual grey t-shirt with its yellow logo and jeans, catches such a look, and as you make your way from finishing the preparations to your respective dressing rooms he stops you and places a hand upon your arm as he asks, “You are still carrying on with all this then?”

 

“Yeah,” you utter, feeling a little stiff. 

 

Bruno pats at your arm as if he might be able to remedy such a thing. “I will tell Len and we will do our best to assist you both in keeping everything private.” He hesitates. “As long as that is what you wish?” You falter for a moment. “I know it is real, but might it not be more sensible to declare it, have a bit of fuss now and then be done with it?” he asks you. 

 

You swallow and shake your head. “I’d rather that it stayed private,” you say. 

 

Bruno gives you a bit of a look and you can tell that it is clear to him that you’re yet to trust Mycroft with all of yourself. “Very well,” he nods. 

 

*

 

You’re sitting in the make-up room later on, your make-up being applied by one of Sally’s assistants since the main woman herself is no where to be seen and just thinking about everything once more, your head swirling, when Mycroft sits beside you with a thump, so that he can get his make-up done too. You’re in a sparkly black dress with your hair scraped back in a bun and once more you find that everything about you goes well with his attire-a white shirt, black bowtie and black braces that are covered up by a black jacket. You swallow, feeling uncomfortable, not only by how good he looks, but by his close presence to you. His eyes go towards you and you’re just considering saying something like you’re happy with your look so that you can get out of there when all of a sudden two loud voices cut over the babble of everyone else. 

 

In the mirror you watch, feeling intrigued as an irate looking Sally bursts in, followed by a calmer looking Irene who oddly enough looks very pleased with herself. Sally’s assistant stops her work and you all turn your heads so that you can observe the show. 

 

“I can’t believe you would do something like that,” Sally huffs out, coming to a stop close to where Mycroft and you are sitting. Her eyes go to herself in the mirror. She’s in a light brown top and dark trousers. She seems to be trying to calm herself down if the way that her fists clench and she takes several steadying breaths is anything to go by. 

 

Mycroft and you half-glance at each other, before you look back at her just as Irene says, “Well it wasn’t exactly like you were ever going to act yourself was it? So I thought I would. I can’t bear all that eye candy going to waste.” She smiles deliciously. 

 

That just seems to make Sally look all the madder and she looks angrily over her shoulder, before she swivels around, so that she can face Irene properly. 

 

Your mouth opens, but Mycroft gets there first. “Ladies,” he says with a hint of smooth enquiry to his tone, “If you could just tell us what this is all about?” Both women look at him, as if to ask why he’s decided to make himself the referee? He’d usually stay out of such things after all and any backstage drama would usually be an invitation for him to leave the room. “Perhaps one of us”-he looks at you now and your eyes narrow. You sense that he’s going to try and flatter you and you’re not sure whether you want to listen to it or not- _“F/N,”_ he murmurs and your body tenses, “Could give you some advice that might be worth listening to?” Irene and several of the assistants that are close by raise their eyebrows at that. “Of course,” Mycroft quickly adds in a casual tone, “If you were to ask F/N then she’d probably give you something that sounded like it was coming out of a _‘Disney’_ film. It is of course up to you to decide whether that is what you need right now.” He tilts his head back towards Sally. You shake your head. 

 

Sally huffs out a breath and turns closer to him. “This is about how I just caught _her”_ -she jerks her thumb back over her shoulder at Irene who’s still looking far too sly and pleased with herself for your liking-“Kissing your brother.” 

 

Mycroft raises an eyebrow. “In that case then you should know that my brother doesn’t do romantic relationships. He was probably just acting in some fit of boredom,” he says and you feel something uneasy inside you when you see the expression on Sally’s face and how her expression seems to have crumpled a little at his words. It reminds you of how you feel every time you doubt your relationship with Mycroft and suddenly something clicks inside you. Your auburn-haired partner makes to go on and say something else that lacks understanding, but shuts up when he feels your hand upon his arm. His gaze automatically goes to you. You shake your head ever so slightly. His brow furrows. You let out a fake cough and shift your position, so that you have an excuse to lean towards him. Your hand tightens on his dark jacket. 

 

“I think Sally would like your brother to act in a fit of boredom with her,” you mutter, keeping your voice low and your hand slides off his arm when you see by the way that his lips part slightly and his eyes widen that he’s finally got the message. You lean back in relief. 

 

Sally clears her throat loudly and makes to move off further down the room, but she hesitates and stiffens when Irene says without care, “I’d recommend that anyone who doesn’t want to face the disappointment that Sally just has acts if they have feelings towards anybody. That includes you F/N.” She steps forwards now and touches at Mycroft’s arm. He swallows and your eyes go dark. Your face tenses as you see Irene’s delicate, red painted fingernails dancing teasingly over the blackness of his jacket. “I’ve got a taste for Holmes’s now,” she shrugs, “And who knows when I might try the eldest one out?” 

 

If you were a cat then you’d be moments away from pouncing on her, but to your relief it’s Mycroft who acts first. Mycroft who tugs his arm free, gets up and turns to face her. “Leave me out of your silly games,” he says to Irene coldly. He adjusts his jacket, before he strides out without having any make-up placed on him at all. 

 

Irene looks at you lingeringly. You huff out a breath and stride out too. You don’t want anything more to do with her. 

 

*

 

As it happens it’s movie week. Considering your career it should be right up your street, but though you find yourself getting lost on the odd occasion in all the creative costumes and the emphasis that’s put on the storytelling you find it hard to distract your mind completely from everything that’s going on. Not only do you feel worried about whether you’re doing the right thing in having a relationship with Mycroft, but you still feel mad about everything that had happened in the make-up room with Irene. She had no right to kiss Sherlock so blatantly-you feel sure that she’d instigated such a thing-not when she knows that Sally, although she’s trying not to, has feelings for him. She must have known that you think. Must have worked it out before you. The two come into far more regular contact with one another after all and have known each other for longer. To make things worse you can’t even brood about it all properly because you find that Sherlock and John seem to be turning their cameras on the judges more and every time you even start to sink back into your mind again you get pulled out of it by either that, Tess asking your opinion, having to score or a song that seems to oddly enough reflect your current situation. There’s _‘Everybody Talks,’_ by _Neon Trees_ and _‘Secret Love Song,’_ by _Little Mix,_ just for starters and quite honestly every time that happens and you hear a lyric that suits, you get this odd prickling on your skin, your heart clenches and your hands fidget. Your mind fills up with worry; a worry you’re sure wouldn't be there so much if you’d been able to confide in someone about everything that’s happening. You can’t trust many people on the show and even with people like Bruno and Len you feel like you’d like to keep them out of things as much as possible, lest Moriarty drag them in for questioning. You can’t protect them from him, but you can at least stop Moriarty from being encouraged to interrogate them. Ideally you’d be able to tell your mother about all this and you would if it wouldn't utterly freak her out, draw back the veil on the show she loves and make her worry endlessly. Lysandra’s an option, but though she’s your friend you just feel like she wouldn't understand all this and that she’d probably think you’re making a mountain out of a mole hill. Not having had that release to properly express yourself to someone by the end of the show you feel like you’re on the verge of having a panic attack. 

 

‘Is everything all right?’ Len mouths to you-in a bow-tie and dark jacket-as you do your end of the show sway with him. He’s holding your fingers so delicately as if you’re made of glass.

 

“Yes, I”- you mumble incoherently with several jerky nods, before you try and whirl around, so that you can get out of there. Your body thwacks into Mycroft’s, who’d been standing right behind you and you push yourself off his chest with a little panicked whine, before you hurry off. 

 

Mycroft takes in Bruno and Len’s concerned gazes, before he hurries after you. 

 

“I can’t do this,” is the first thing that you breathe when he’s come into your dressing room and shut the door behind him. He stays close to it though as you pace back and forth, tug your hair band out of your hair and worry it between your hands. You turn towards him, letting out breath after breath. “Please don’t tell me that you were oblivious to what happened in there. All the song lyrics and the cameras looking our way? That’s not even to begin with the fact that we match again”-

 

“It was me who made sure that we’d match last week,” Mycroft confesses, trying to reassure you that not everything’s been instigated by Moriarty. You look at him, your face pale. He swallows. “I wanted to try and make you see me differently”-

 

“For Moriarty?” you ask. 

 

“No of course not.” He steps forwards. “How many times do I have to tell you?” 

 

You look off to the side and swallow, before you look back at him. “I can’t do this,” you repeat. “Moriarty is doing everything that he can to stir things up, so that everyone will think there’s something going on with us, and due to my stupidity last week there is!” You shake your head as if you can’t believe yourself. “But I won’t let that be the case, not any more. I am _not_ doing what he wants.” 

 

“F/N I thought we agreed”-he bridges the gap between you-“That we’d start this not because it’s what he wants, but because it’s what _we_ do?” He strokes desperately at your hair. “I thought you’d come to see that you can’t just deprive yourself because of fear?” 

 

“Mycroft I can’t”- you choke out and a few tears fly out of your eyes. You feel a mess and you just want him to understand how hard it is. How hard its been with this odd tension between the both of you in the past week because of the fact that neither of you can fully trust the other. How difficult it was to have so many reminders of this complicated relationship that you have thrust in your face tonight when it hasn’t even found its feet. 

 

“Come, come sit down,” he guides you carefully backwards with his hands until you come to be sitting sideways on the chair by your dressing table. You let out breath after breath, trying to calm yourself, but you still feel worked up and worried about it all. He kneels down before you and cups your hands in between his. He looks down for a moment, before he meets your eyes again. “It was silly of me. I knew about the camera thing before”-your mouth opens-“Sherlock sent me a text about it, but I decided not to tell you because I didn't want it to lead to all this”-

 

“You should have told me.”

 

“I know,” he gets out, squeezing at your hands, but you can tell that he doesn’t know just how deeply engrained all your fears are about this and part of you for one mad moment wants to try and explain somehow, explain how the truth is that deep inside you really lack confidence because after your parents had got divorced you’d seen the effect it had, had on your mother, seen how much she’d struggled to come to terms with her failed relationship and to raise you and you never want to let yourself get that hurt by a man. You try and push it out, but all you get past your throat is a grunt. Mycroft looks at you sympathetically, before he says, “You don’t need to worry.” He rubs at your hair. 

 

“How can you say that?” you ask. He looks at you. “I don’t know if I can trust you Mycroft,” you confess with a crumpled expression as tears slide down your cheeks because that is the best that you can manage right now. 

 

“You can,” he murmurs, cupping at your cheek. You sniff and shake your head a little. Your hands shift against his and he adjusts so that he can hold onto them tighter. “Remember what you realized last week? Everything you discovered about me? Everything you felt?” 

 

“I-I don’t know…” you trail off. 

 

“I would not have done those things just for Moriarty. I am not here now because of him.” 

 

“But you being so is still helping his cause,” you say, pulling your hands away from his. You stand up together. 

 

“We can be together. Please don’t forget everything that you felt F/N. It’s just one week of difficulty.” He wraps his arms around you and presses his body against yours. “Just one week.” He holds you until you start to calm down again. Your head is tilted down towards his chest as you swallow profusely. “You’ll be letting him win even more if you allow him to stop you from doing what you want.” You nod. “Hmm?” Mycroft checks. You nod some more. 

 

A moment later there’s a noise by the door and you pull away slowly from Mycroft and look over your shoulder as Bruno and Len peer in. 

 

“The pair of you had better get changed,” Bruno says, now in a navy suit and tie with brown pocket-handkerchief. He looks between you both, before his eyes rests upon yours. “Is everything all right?” he asks. 

 

You turn towards him properly and swipe tears away from your face as you do so. You nod. “Yes, j-just found tonight more difficult than I thought, that’s all.” 

 

Bruno nods, his gaze guarded as he looks back to Mycroft. 

 

“Right,” the auburn-haired judge says. He squeezes at your shoulder as he goes past, before he departs with the others. 

 

You change quickly into an amber dress with red and yellow earrings and hurry to make-up. You've just gotten through the door when you come face to face with none other than Irene. Your face tightens and you make to go around her. 

 

As you draw level with her she clutches at your arm and says, “Did it work?” 

 

_“What?”_ you spit, looking at her with an angry expression upon your face. 

 

“Making Sally jealous, so that she’d have to act and tell Sherlock how she feels?” Irene goes on impatiently. 

 

“I only just got here,” you tell her in an unimpressed fashion. 

 

“She’s not here. I thought she’d be with you?” Irene asks. 

 

You shake your head. 

 

“Sally had a bad headache. I told her to get off, said we could manage without her,” Mary says in a terse tone from where she’s just appeared behind Irene. 

 

“Is that what we’re calling heartache these days?” the darker haired woman looks back at her colleague and then at you. 

 

You raise your eyebrows at her. “I suggest that from now on you stay out of other people’s love lives and just focus on your own,” you say. 

 

“That would be rather hard for Miss. Adler to do F/N since she’s hopelessly single,” Mycroft saunters in, hands in the pockets of the grey suit he’s wearing with yellow and black tie and black pocket-handkerchief. You turn to look at him, but his eyes are cold and haughty, as they remain fixed on Irene. “I’ve just spoken to my brother,” he informs her, “And he told me that you pounced on him as soon as Sally came into sight. He didn't enjoy the interaction and would prefer it if you kept your hands to yourself in the future.” You feel a stirring of something inside you at the tone of voice he’s using-all severe and on the verge of something. 

 

“Is that why he sent you to tell me?” she quirks an eyebrow up at him. Mycroft smiles down at her coolly. “Besides,” she goes on, “You’re one to talk about being hopelessly single,” she goes up to him and flicks the tie that he’s wearing over his shoulder, “I think we should stick together.” The stirring you’d felt earlier turns into a sudden rage. You make a sound like an angry cat and your fists clench together without being able to help it. “Or not,” she looks back at you in amusement. 

 

Mycroft moves off to the side and draws his tie back down. “Do give James Moriarty our best won’t you? That is if you remember in between carrying out all the extras he pays you for.” Irene’s face clenches. Your mouth drops open. “Perhaps you could also tell him that unless he starts to behave himself he might find something in the papers about himself that he doesn’t like, and I don’t mean in the ones that Magnussen runs.” 

 

Irene looks at him in surprise, before her face grows more serious. “Oh, I wouldn't go against him if I were you.” 

 

“I’ll be the one to make that choice,” Mycroft says and Irene’s eyes flick around to everyone watching, before she nods and departs. 

 

You look at Mycroft with a million thoughts running through your head, some that are full of desire at him standing up to Irene, some that are questioning, but none that you can share with him until you’re in bed at yours that night. 

 

“You shouldn't have threatened Moriarty like that to Irene,” you say, as soon as he’s slipped inside and rolled towards you. He looks at you. You feel a pang of something. You want him to know that you’d felt happy at him being more assertive about the situation, want him to know that you’d felt encouraged by it, but at the same time you want to protect him and the fragile relationship that you have. “I know why you did it”-you take his hand-“But”-

 

“You probably think that I’ve just made everything more difficult,” he says, tugging his hand away from yours and rolling onto his back. 

 

“Well, yes,” you admit. Still on your side you shift closer to him. “I was happy about you trying though.” You attempt to make up for it. 

 

He looks at you, before he swings his head away again and stares at where the light from the bedside lamp is making interesting shapes upon the ceiling. “She needed to be brought down a peg or two,” he says, and you remember suddenly how he’d once said the same thing about you. It makes something cold run through you. Oblivious to such a thing Mycroft goes on, “She needs to know that just because she’s sleeping with our boss doesn’t mean that she’s going to have an easy life.” You let out a breath. “She’s not the only one,” Mycroft tells you, “He’s been having it off with Sebastian Moran and I'm sure that there are many more besides.” 

 

_“So…”_ you turn towards him even more, trying to understand what he’s telling you. You trail a circle into his collarbone, which just protrudes above his navy t-shirt. “We could go to the press with that if Moriarty keeps doing what he’s doing?” Mycroft pulls a bit of a face. “But you like this job and want to keep it, so the threat you just made was an empty one and you told Irene who will tell Moriarty that you know about him for nothing?” You read him and feel disappointed. Your brain tells you that you shouldn't have been as pleased with him for standing up to Irene earlier, it hadn’t been Moriarty after all. 

 

He sighs. “It’s not as simple as that.” 

 

“What then?” you persist, pulling your hand away from him and feeling irritated. 

 

He lets out another breath and finally he knows that it’s time to tell you what you’ve wanted him to for a long time. If he doesn’t then he can only see your relationship going around in circles. Perhaps this way will be better. Perhaps it will encourage you to place more trust in him and to be more honest with him yourself. He takes a deep breath and then he says, “Moriarty already knows that I know such a thing. That both Sherlock and I do.” Your brow furrows and you prop yourself up with your hand. You can tell that this is important. Mycroft shifts uncomfortably, a look of frustration upon his face as he wonders how best to tell you. He sighs and curls a hand upon his stomach, scratching absent-mindedly at his t-shirt. “When I first came to work here he got me into his office, did a whole spiel about how he’d noticed that I could be a bit, well…”

 

_“Grumpy?”_ you volunteer. 

 

“I’d prefer stern minded”-

 

“Stern minded makes you sound like you’re getting the whip out, but okay,” you go along with it. 

 

Mycroft snorts and rolls towards you. He kisses you briefly, his hand scraping across your cheek, before he moves to be on his back again. You drop your head down against his shoulder. He holds you to him and lets out a more contented breath, stroking at your hair. You rub against his t-shirt reassuringly. “Anyway,” Mycroft goes on, “He told me that I should play up that angle and since it was Craig who I was replacing it made sense. But he wanted me to go to such extremes and he kept calling me into his office to tell me and I started getting annoyed with it all. I told him what I’d realized about him in the hope that he might give me a bit more space”-

 

“About the Adler and Moran situation?” you check. 

 

He nods. “But that just made things even worse. He told everyone not to talk to me. They’d already been making attempts to make me feel included, but he said that if they persisted then he’d fire them.” 

 

You let out a sad breath and rub against his top. “He made you into the Iceman?” you ask him. 

 

Mycroft hesitates. “I suppose that side of me was already there, but he drew it out more, helped to exaggerate it, make people think that, that was the only part of me that existed.” He looks at you meaningfully here and you feel sad that you’d almost been taken in by such a thing. But then you wonder why he’d let that title envelop him so completely and why he hadn’t gone against Moriarty and stood up to him further? Aside from with Moriarty, Mycroft seems like the type of man who’s independent and who has the capability of being brave. He’d been so when he’d gone up against Irene tonight after all. 

 

“What happened then?” you ask. “Everyone talks to you now so I'm assuming that, that changed?”

 

“I threatened to quit. I liked the job but”-

 

“Why do you like it if you don’t mind me asking?” 

 

A slow smile begins to curve upon Mycroft’s face as he thinks about it. He strokes at your hair and finally he says, “I suppose, when it comes down to it, I just like being a judge and getting the chance to correct people and order them about.”

 

“Is that what you like about directing?” you ask. 

 

“One of the things,” he smiles, and you share a brief kiss with each other again. “Anyway,” Mycroft says, getting back to the main story, “Moriarty played a hand, which he knew would keep me under submission. He offered Sherlock and John jobs here. He knew that I wouldn't quit if my brother was at threat from him and no matter how I tried to dissuade Sherlock he wouldn’t hear a thing against it. He just thought that I was getting at him and looking down at his job. Of course I think he’s wasted his potential, but if he’s happy then I’ll gladly support him when it comes down to it. I think he might be starting to realize just what a precarious situation doing this job underneath someone like Moriarty is now, but he’s stubborn too. He won’t leave now and so I also wish to keep my job. Now that you’re here I do even more so.” 

 

You blush a little at that and duck your head. “You want to protect me?” 

 

“Mmmhmm,” Mycroft says. 

 

“Well,” you smile, “Moriarty’s not here now, so I guess we can enjoy ourselves.” 

 

“What did you have in mind?” Mycroft asks. 

 

You roll on top of him in the next moment. 

 

*

 

“I heard a rather interesting tale from Miss. Adler on Saturday,” Moriarty says once he’s summoned Mycroft to his office that following Monday, “She said that you were getting a little cocky in the dressing room. I hope you’re not forgetting why staying on the show is so important to you?”

 

“Of course not Sir,” Mycroft responds promptly in his dull green-grey suit, black and brown tie and white shirt. 

 

“Good,” Moriarty says in his navy suit and grey open necked shirt, “Perhaps you won’t mind doing me a favour then?” Mycroft opens his mouth. 

 

* 

 

Mycroft and you decide to keep things private if you can. You might be doing what Moriarty wants on the whole, but you’re not going to proclaim it. Mycroft seems to worry about his brother like you worry about your mother and you’d hate for Moriarty to involve her in any of his plans. Since Mycroft’s already said that he wants to protect you then keeping things quiet seems like the best way of doing that. If you got together and went public then God knows what Moriarty would have you doing on the show. It’s better this way. 

 

But still you find that your eyes fix on Mycroft intently as he sits opposite Zoë Ball that following Thursday because he’s already proved that he isn't the most tactful when he feels threatened and you don’t want things to get worse. He exudes an air of cool elegance as he leans back with one arm splayed across the back of the settee and his legs crossed. He’s wearing a dark suit, polished black shoes and an open necked white shirt with a black bow tie dangling loosely around his shoulders. He looks handsome, but you’re more concerned about what he’s going to say and how he’s going to handle being interrogated by the presenter about the possible status of his relationship with you. 

 

“So Mycroft,” Zoë says, in a pink fluffy jumper, which has a diagonal neck that reveals the black t-shirt she’s wearing underneath. She’s also got on a black belt with silver buckle and smart, dark trousers. “I know you’re very serious and want to focus on the dancing, but I asked F/N when she appeared on the show last week and I have to ask you too. Is there anything going on between the pair of you?” 

 

“Ah,” Mycroft says, as if he’d expected such a thing. He offers the presenter a wry smile. “Now that would be telling.” He winks, and Zoë, growing rather flustered indeed starts to fan herself with the card that she’s holding. 

 

“So you won’t deny or confirm it?” she asks him with bated breath, whilst you make an annoyed growl in your throat. 

 

Mycroft smiles again and moves his foot around in a circle, before he leans forwards and offers her a bit of a shrug. “If people want to gossip and speculate and be inventive then I am not going to put a halt to their curiosity. Unlike F/N I believe that people will continue to look at us in whatever way they want to regardless of what either of us say.” Zoë opens her mouth. “That’s my final word on the matter.” He leans back again. 

 

*

 

“ ‘That would be telling?’” you fume at Mycroft that night. “What happened to us being private?” You’re not happy. Not after you’ve been feeling slightly warmer and more protective of him of late after what he’d told you about Sherlock. 

 

“It is like I said on the show,” he says crisply, “People are going to say what they want. I’ve already told you why it matters to me so much that I keep my job and though we’re not doing everything that Moriarty wants I see no harm in us playing to his angle every now and again”-

 

“You got cold feet,” you tell him, “You went in there probably intending to keep me happy, but as soon as she asked you that you automatically did what Moriarty-not I- wanted. Nice to know which of us is on top…”

 

“F/N”- is all that Mycroft gets out, before you hang up on him.

 

You don’t have any contact with Mycroft until the next show, but you soften slightly when you see that twelve red roses have been delivered to your dressing room. They stand proudly in a clear vase and the card that’s with them contains a single kiss. His penmanship unmistakable you let him occupy your bed that night. 

 

*

 

Things go up and down between you over the next few weeks. Sometimes you feel happy with him and you can’t help but play up to Moriarty’s angle-pretending to check Mycroft’s temperature by pressing the back of your hand to his forehead when he gives an eight for Greg’s Quickstep-you can’t know that the black and white ambience to the whole thing had reminded Mycroft of his dream as well as you and swung things in Greg’s favour, batting Mycroft with your paddle when he gives Molly’s Jive-a very under marked in your opinion-four [you give her a seven] smacking him on the arm when he’s cruel about Vera’s Rhumba, but says it in such a way that you can’t help but laugh and stroking at the collar of his multi-coloured top with your hand when Tess says that it’s a nice one. 

 

Yet there are times when you feel more withdrawn and lost about it all. Times that as much as you try to remind yourself that the Iceman is not real, that, that side of Mycroft is an exaggerated product of his normal self, invented by Moriarty, you can’t help but feel that same worry that you’d felt before Mycroft had told you such a thing. Can’t help but worry that he’s just taking you on a one-way trip to heartbreak. How much can you really afford to trust him? Is he still doing this more for Moriarty and to protect his brother than you? You don’t expect him to put you above his family, but the fact that he might be keeping the happiness of creepy Moriarty more a priority than yours makes you feel anxious and irked.

 

All three of your favourite dancers meanwhile are improving bit by bit with Vera as you’d expect doing so at a slower rate, but still doing a largely good job nonetheless. All of them have their faults though. With Vera it’s her slowness that you feel jeopardizes her place in the competition as well as the fact that she is naturally much more comfortable in the ballroom dances where she can cling onto Anton. Whilst Molly still lacks confidence and Greg’s prone to over think after he’s made a mistake, often resulting in more being made. You take as much pain as pleasure in watching them, feeling apprehensive about them going wrong and you’re thankful when each week they are voted through without being in the dance off. You think that the effort all three of them are putting in is probably being appreciated even though none of them are exceptional dancers with some one else having gotten the first ten of the series from Bruno. 

 

You still feel annoyed about the press invasion into your personal life too and that’s another thing that’s getting you down. For sometimes you can’t help but think how nice it would be to slide your hand on top of Mycroft’s on the judging desk or have his hand snake down and grasp at your thigh. Just for a moment. How nice it would be to be able to smile at him freely without worrying about what people might make of it. Sometimes you want Mycroft to stay the whole night when he comes around, to wake up in his arms and not only to the faint smell of him, which remains upon the pillow and your skin. Sometimes you want more, which is exactly how you feel during the Halloween show when you see how he’s been made to look like a vampire. His skin has been made to look even whiter through make-up and though the contact lenses he’s got on, which make it look as if there’s jagged sparks of light in between the blue of his eyes are rather odd, you find that with his dark cloak, red neck tie, ruffled shirt and the dribble of fake blood, which runs down from his mouth to his chin he looks more attractive than ever. You don’t know just how much your own costume, with your skull hair clip, serpent ‘S’ shaped earrings, rouge blush, silver nail varnish, flared black dress with a purple and red under layer and fake bandaged hands has the same effect on him until he comes into your dressing room in between shows-something you’ve both been trying to avoid to keep things private-swings you around and roughly kisses you, turning you and pushing you right against the door until you’re crying out into his mouth, your head sent dizzy from the feel of his desire. Later he’ll go on to worship your body, declaring you beautiful in between every fevered kiss, but you wish that you could just touch and kiss and even hold his hands in a more open fashion. Wish that you did not have to suppress your feelings or question them. Wish that you could just tell your mum the truth that you’re in a relationship with Mycroft Holmes and that it wouldn't matter if the outside world found out because you’d just be two other people in the world who are in love. Or you would be if you didn't have to worry about Moriarty. But then comes something more momentarily devastating than the troubled feelings, which are swirling inside you, for the week before Blackpool Vera and Molly both find themselves in the bottom two. Not only do you find the fact that one of them won’t be able to go to the home of ballroom dance saddening, but the fact that you have to help decide, which one of them that will be makes things even worse. 

 

Mycroft’s just saved Molly and you have your head in your hands when Tess goes to you. You make an annoyed sound and ruffle your loose hair up something terrible, before you lower your hands and say, “God, you should both know how dreadful this is for me. I’ve been a big fan of you both from the very beginning, and I know that the competition’s getting tough now, but this is just”- you break off and shake your head, looking at Tess. 

 

“I'm going to have to push you for a decision I'm afraid F/N,” the presenter warns. 

 

You huff out a bit of a breath. Mycroft shifts beside you. His maroon coloured tie and pocket-handkerchief match your dress and you know that he probably gets a sense of how tough this is for you despite the fact that he’s been relentlessly teasing you for the past two weeks by saying that Vera should have gone already. “All right,” you sigh, looking between both couples. Vera’s looking dead ahead, looking dignified as Anton holds onto her waist lightly, but Molly’s got her head bowed and you can just make out that she’s chewing her lip, whilst Kevin stands behind her, his arms wrapped around her middle and his own head ducked. “Vera,” you say, and the older woman gives a little start, “You know that I love you. You've made me both laugh and cry, but I'm afraid that going forward and because of her better technical ability I'm going to have to save Molly.” Vera nods in understanding and Molly lets out a little breath.

 

“That’s two votes to save Molly and Kevin. If you vote for them also Bruno then that will mean that they’re through to next week and Blackpool. If you don’t decide to save them however then it will be up to our head judge Len to decide our couples fate,” Tess says. 

 

“Yes, you have both been splendid my darlings and given us some very memorable dances, but tonight one couple shone brighter and gave us a better performance and that couple was Molly and Kevin.”

 

There’s a ripple of sad applause for the decision and you let out a little breath as Len concurs that he would have voted the same way. Mycroft shifts beside you. His hand flexes a little and you get the sense that he would quite like to rub at your hand in that moment and make sure that you’re all right. He can’t however-the pressure of keeping this job and an eye on Sherlock weighs down upon him-so as you sit there with a lump in your throat, whilst you watch Kevin and Molly hug Anton and Vera, Mycroft has to stay still and once more feel the pain of not being able to touch you when he wants to do so. He feels selfish and cruel at such points and he hates himself for it. For not being braver and pulling himself away from Moriarty’s clutches like he knows that you want him to. He’s sensed such a thing coming off you at times. Sensed that you want him to be brave again even though he’d messed up the previous time that he’d stood up to Moriarty. Sensed that you want him to be brave for you. 

 

“Come over here my darlings,” Tess says with a commiserative smile upon her face as she beckons Vera and Anton across. “Oh, how are you feeling? We’re going to miss you both so much. I'm so sorry that you had to leave us right before Blackpool,” she adds. 

 

“I'm feeling all right,” Vera smiles bravely. “A little sad about not getting through to Blackpool.” Tess’s mouth takes on a sad ‘O’ at that and Anton peers down at his celebrity dance partner. “Everyone is so good now though and it was definitely time for me to go,” Vera carries on, “I’ll miss everyone terribly and I just want to say thank you to Anton for being so patient with me. I couldn't have asked for a better teacher.”

 

“Oh, we’re going to miss you so much too,” Tess says, and when she glances up at all the judges and sees your expression she pulls a bit of a sad face and adds, “I think you’re making F/N cry again.”

 

You sniffle and raise a hand to try and stem your tears. Vera comes across and you stand so that you can hug her over the judges desk. “I'm so sorry,” you murmur. 

 

“It’s all right,” she reassures you, pulling away from the hug. “It was time.” She rubs at your arms. 

 

As you sit down, whilst Vera goes back to join Anton, Mycroft asks, “All right?” in a gruff fashion out of the side of his mouth. 

 

“Yeah,” you say breathlessly, struggling to contain yourself and Mycroft places his pocket-handkerchief down in front of you on the desk. You look at him sideways gratefully, before you use it to blow your nose. Then you stand and applaud as Vera and Anton do their final dance, swaying and laughing a little to, _‘Time to Say Goodbye,’_ by _Katherine Jenkins._

 

*

 

Greg’s on his way to get changed out of his outfit when he hears a snuffling noise coming from the side of the busy corridor. He stops and looks back. His heart sinks when he sees Molly standing there with her head bowed, pressing her hands to her cheeks as if she’s trying to stop herself from crying. “Where’s Kevin?” he asks once he’s gone back and stopped in front of her.

 

“Oh,” Molly says, lowering her hands, “Hi Greg.” Greg looks at her steadily, not believing in her fake cheerfulness for one second. “He’s gone,” she answers him, “I told him to and took myself off to the toilet. I thought I had myself under control, but”- she gives a little shrug. 

 

“Well you don’t have anything to be ashamed about,” he tells her, “Your Viennese Waltz was amazing”-

 

“I guess it just fell under the radar,” she smiles ruefully and Greg does not know what makes him do it, but he suddenly finds himself hugging her. She lets out a little breath of surprise, taking in his earthy scent, before her hands slide around to his back. She puts her head sideways against his chest. 

 

“We should get changed,” he murmurs, his hand nearly going to her hair, before his courage fails him and it goes to her back again. Molly nods and pulls her head away. “But I want to go out and have a drink with you after.” Molly opens her mouth. “I won’t take no for an answer,” he says, holding her back from him by her shoulders. 

 

She lets out a bit of a watery laugh, before she nods resolutely as something sparkles in her eyes and she feels gladder than ever that she’d stayed in the competition. “Okay,” she smiles. 

 

*

 

**I want you to meet someone,** Mycroft sends you along with an address of an apartment that you don’t recognize when you’re changing back into your casual clothes in your dressing room. You've started staying there much more now. Whilst as far as the situation in the make-up room’s concerned you’ve been talking to Sally and Mary, but giving Irene a wide berth. 

 

_Not coming to mine?_ You send in a fumbling fashion, one hand operating your phone and the other reaching towards the dark trousers that are around your ankles and ready to be pulled up. 

 

**Have a good look around, before you come,** Mycroft sends, ignoring your previous question, **But if it’s all clear then I’ll see you at that address at ten minutes past twelve. Be careful.**

 

Feeling a little touched at that show of concern you send Mycroft a reassuring message back telling him that you’ll be fine and you’ll see him then. 

 

*

 

You dress in dark, plain clothes and slip out of your house into the awaiting taxi half-an-hour, before you’re due to meet Mycroft. You hope that with your hair down and helping to cover your face you might go undetected. The taxi driver, a plain middle-aged man with thinning dark hair, doesn’t say anything if he does recognize you and you get out about five minutes away from the address that Mycroft had given you. You pretend to do up your laces until the taxi pulls away and has gone off into the distance, its headlights blending in with so many others and then you set off at a brisk walk, entering the building and taking a lift silently up to the penthouse. 

 

Mycroft, wearing a white shirt with a loose black tie, black belt and trousers, lets you in with an, _‘Ah,’_ of relief and the first thing that hits you as you move past him into the low lit apartment is the view. The white curtains have been pulled right back and tied back with their black fastenings so that you can see it and it feels as if all the lights in the city are visible to you. 

 

“Wow,” you breathe, going across to the windows, whilst Mycroft closes the door behind you in satisfaction. 

 

“Yes,” he clears his throat in a false casual manner, “I wanted you to see it.”

 

You smile at him as he joins you and your eyes meet each other’s steadily for a moment, before you share a kiss. Your foreheads butt against the others and Mycroft’s hand snakes down your side to your waist, before he intertwines your fingers together.

 

“Didn't you have someone that you wanted me to meet?” you ask, pulling away from him. 

 

“Yes,” he leads you over to the bookshelf that’s on the left now, before he nods at the circular fish tank that’s on one of the shelves, “Meet Goldfish 123.” 

 

“Goldfish 123?” you quirk an eyebrow up, before you bend and put your hands on your knees as you see the pretty fish that’s there. You smile when you see the Houses of Parliament figurine. Even Mycroft’s goldfish is serious you think. 

 

“Yes,” Mycroft clears his throat, “That’s what I call him.”

 

“Goldfish 123 isn't a name,” you chide, straightening back up. 

 

“When you’ve had as many fish as I have the appeal of naming them soon fades believe me,” he says in a weary tone, looking at you. 

 

“Still, he should have a name,” you say, staring at the fish. You bend down and tap at the glass thoughtfully. 

 

“Any ideas?” Mycroft asks, sticking his hands into his pockets and rocking back and forth a little on his heels. 

 

“Hmm,” you think, and as you do so your mind goes back to everything that’s happened that evening. A swirl of sadness hits you. “He’s a ‘he,’ so…Anton?”

 

“I am not naming my fish Anton,” Mycroft snorts humourlessly. “People will be saying that I'm gay next.”

 

“Yes, because I'm getting the sense that you show so many people your fish,” you quip. “You let me come here tonight to try and get my mind off things didn't you?” you ask, your face turning softer as you half-look behind you. 

 

Mycroft nods. “I thought it might be a good distraction,” he says a little guardedly, before he tentatively steps behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, resting his head down upon your shoulder. It feels odd to have you there, but nice. “I knew you were a little upset about Vera leaving.”

 

“I know you didn't think much of her dancing on the whole, but she was always nice and such a good-spirited woman. I'm going to miss her,” you breathe. Mycroft kisses at your shoulder and you make a contented sound, before you whirl around in his arms and tug him forwards by his tie. “Thank you,” you murmur. You kiss him. As Mycroft’s hands go to your waist and push you back into the bookshelf, before they roam down to squeeze at your thighs you writhe against him, emitting a little breathless giggle. Goldfish 123 swims across and stares at you both as if he’s never seen such a thing. 

 

“If people did say that you were gay though,” you say, going back to that earlier strand of conversation, “Then I could always correct them.” 

 

“But then,” Mycroft says, before his lips go to your neck. You arch your head back. “Everyone would know about us”-

 

“So you’d rather they think that you’re gay and got the hots for Anton Du Beke? Which”-you tilt your head consideringly-“Actually might be a good distraction technique. Idiots like Kitty would probably believe it.”

 

“No, I just want you to myself,” Mycroft says, in between sucking at your skin, his hands coming up suddenly to cup at your breasts through your clothes. You moan and push closer to him. 

 

“Yes,” you breathe, “Because it’s not like I'm getting any press attention at the moment or anything.”

 

“Forget about them and everything else that has happened tonight,” Mycroft urges, and as his fingers shift and make more administrations you take up the idea. 

 

You do however have to ask, “What time do I have to go?”

 

“Daybreak,” Mycroft says. You pull back and look at him. _“What?”_ he raises a brow, looking as if he’s trying to hide how pleased he is by your expression. “Did you really think that I was going to make you wander about at a dangerous hour? I was worried enough about you getting here.”

 

“Aw, and to think that people really believe you haven’t got a heart,” you tease.

 

“Do you?” Mycroft asks without being able to help it, before he curses himself inwardly a moment later. He’s not usually this… _needy._

 

Still undecided about the matter you feel a swooping sensation in your stomach like you’ve just jumped off something very high. To stop Mycroft from worrying about your hesitation you kiss him instead. 

 

*

 

It’s heaven to wake up underneath Mycroft’s soft, plush white duvet warm in his arms. Heaven to twist around and see that he’s already awake, his soft eyes examining and admiring the way that you look in the light. Not heaven to know that you’ll have to go soon. _But-_

 

“We might be able to have more nights like this,” Mycroft says, no doubt to reassure you when he sees your expression. You gaze at him. “We’ll be staying at the same hotel in Blackpool,” he reminds you, brushing at your hair, “I don’t see why either of us would have to leave any earlier than this.” You smile and share several kisses with him, whilst his hand strokes at your back encouragingly, before you finally get dressed and leave.

 

*

 

That hope keeps you going until you find out that Molly and Greg have become a couple that Monday. You see a picture of them cuddling and kissing, bundled up in their winter coats and scarves at a café during a break from filming in one of the tabloids. The first thing that you feel is surprise, before that shock is tainted by bitterness that your relationship with Mycroft can’t be like that. For that would be the ideal you think-to be able to be in an open relationship with Mycroft because you can trust him, and to be able to do that because Moriarty’s not an issue any more. You feel guilty for feeling annoyed about Molly’s relationship with Greg, of course you do, you like them and they shouldn't feel the need to be conducting their relationship in a certain way any more than you should. But you can’t help it. Can’t help but wish that the protagonists in that happy café scene could be Mycroft and you. But in reality Moriarty is the reason why Molly and Greg, only temporary passengers on this cruise, is why they can go public and you can’t. Why they can have a more trusting relationship, whilst you have to try and keep things flowing as they are at a reasonably safe level to protect Sherlock.

 

Moriarty is also the reason that you feel like you have a headache when both Mycroft and you get called in to see him unexpectedly that Tuesday.

 

“Good to see you again,” your slippery boss says, looking in between Mycroft and you. You’re in jeans and a brown turtle-neck. Mycroft’s in a dark suit, white shirt and blue tie. Moran-sitting by Moriarty as usual-is in a grey suit, cream shirt and brown tie. Whilst Moriarty is in a black suit and open-necked white shirt. You look at him suspiciously. Mycroft murmurs something similar in return, but when you just stare at him Moriarty says, “Got a cold?” You shake your head. “You can speak then?” 

 

It is only the fact that you can feel Mycroft stiffening beside you that makes you say, “Yes Sir, sorry.”

 

“Good,” Moriarty’s lip curls upward and you can almost hear Mycroft inwardly sighing with relief. “Then perhaps, now that we've got those pleasantries out of the way, I should tell you why you’re here?” 

 

Again you don’t answer. 

 

“Yes Sir,” Mycroft says promptly. 

 

Moriarty’s eyes flicker against yours for a moment in distaste, but he looks at Mycroft in a more satisfied manner. “I am fairly pleased with the way that you have been carrying out what we discussed before. It has not been conducted perfectly, but there have been enough moments between you to interest the public and enough people doing their jobs properly around you both to sustain such a thing.”

 

“You mean that there are enough people in your pocket and too afraid to do anything else Sir,” you get out angrily without being able to help it. 

 

_“F/N!”_ Mycroft’s hand jumps on the arm of his chair. He swings his head to look at you worriedly and you hate him in that moment for not having enough guts to end the status quo. 

 

Moriarty’s lip twitches upward in pleasure at his reaction, but when his eyes fix on yours they glint with something that is the opposite. “Perhaps you could step outside for a moment Mycroft?” he asks with his eyes still on you. 

 

“I’d rather not Sir. I have an appointment with someone about my show soon and I”- Mycroft begins, feeling alarmed at the thought of leaving you with Moriarty, but he breaks off when his boss looks at him and hurriedly makes to do what he wants. 

 

“Now then F/N,” Moriarty says as soon as Mycroft’s gone. His eyes fix perfectly on yours and though you feel tense and you’re barely breathing you try and not show your fear. “You think that people are afraid of me yes? That I have them in my pocket? That I bribe them and conduct some of my affairs unlawfully?” You hesitate and swallow, before you nod. Moriarty though looks pleased by your response. Pleased by this person going against him who he can now play with. “Well, then to that my dear I’d say that fear is everywhere. It’s in every space, in every person, and once it begins to grow it can be wielded into different shapes and played to some people’s advantages.” You just stare at him. “Everyone has a pressure point, which stems from fear, learnt that from a friend of mine.” He smirks. You have no idea that he’s thinking of Magnussen. “Mycroft’s pressure point is darling Sherlock… and yours, well yours F/N is encapsulated in one word isn't it?” You stare at him unblinkingly. _“Daddy,”_ Moriarty says with a delicious relish. 

 

At that one word the reason for all your inner lack of self-confidence comes hurtling back to you and you stand up so fast that it sends your head dizzy. For a moment you just stay there, panting above both Moriarty and Moran. The former smiles up at you, whilst the latter remains poker faced. You spin around and hurry towards the door. 

 

Your hand’s just reaching for it when Moriarty says, “Don’t forget to be a good girl for me in Blackpool F/N. Get me plenty of footage or perhaps you’ll find that your past will be brought up again and you don’t want that do you? Don’t want precious Mummy being made upset and having to worry about her silly daughter. Don’t want him outside knowing what a mess you are.” 

 

You swallow back a biting remark and hurry out of there. You can hear Moriarty beginning to laugh cruelly, before the door’s even closed and you bite down hard on the inside of your mouth and keep your head ducked. Mycroft’s waiting diligently outside, just like Moriarty had told him to, but you brush past him and ignore his concerned calling of your name.

 

**What did he say to you?** Mycroft sends that night. 

 

You've already refused to answer the front door to him and done the same when he’d tried the back. You don’t reply and though you speak to him briefly via phone the following day you shut down completely when he mentions Moriarty. He finally changes the issue with a sigh and you begin to talk again. You can tell that he’s worried though by the way that he hesitates, before each time he speaks, as if he’s carefully considering every word and you feel tearful because there are some things that you don’t want to tell Mycroft and Moriarty’s made you realize just how difficult that’s going to be if you choose to stay in a relationship with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: Blackpool!


	6. Blackpool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens in Blackpool definitely won't stay in Blackpool.

You jump when your phone vibrates with a text. It’s Friday morning. You’d arrived in Blackpool the previous night. You’d been too lazy and tired to unpack then, so you’d just been making a start on it now. Your head is heavy with the same argument that you’ve been going over all week. One part of you thinks that you should end things with Mycroft, before they can get any more complicated. Obviously you don’t want to break up with him and you happen to think that if you did then he’d probably find out about everything you don’t want him to with Moriarty’s help anyway, but you can’t help but feel like that would be the best thing. The thing that would protect yourself. It’s not like you feel as if you can fully trust him anyway. Every time you think about it one thing sticks in your head and that’s how the first time you’d met him Mycroft had said how he’s better off without Soo Lin Yao just because she’s emotionally unstable. You get the sense that he hadn’t been performing then, that he hadn’t been thrashing about his authority or trying to keep on Moriarty’s good side. Get the sense that, that’s what he’d genuinely felt at that time, and if that’s the truth then no matter what his motives are now then perhaps if he knew everything about you he’d deem you the same and dismiss you just as casually. Your mind doesn’t dwell on how thoughtful Mycroft had seemed then or that Len had practically encouraged him to say such things. It just sees that narrow side of the picture because that is what scares you the most and what along with everything else makes you think that perhaps you should use this as an opportunity to break free and get away from that problem. You’d never have to worry about trusting him again. 

 

You pick up the phone from the bed with a sigh to see that it’s none other than Mycroft whose texted you. **Go to the lobby, find a free chair and pretend to be reading.**

 

You let out a frustrated breath. You don’t particularly feel like doing what he’s suggesting right now. You’d rather just stay in your room and brood upon it all. But, not wanting to have to explain things to Mycroft, before you’ve even figured them out yourself you send: _Okay. Just give me a few to get ready. x._

 

Taking a deep breath you slip your phone in your pocket and swivel towards the mirror. You’re wearing a white t-shirt that has layers of ruffles on its top quarter, a gold pendent necklace, a black jacket and jeans. You’re not exactly the glamorous person that you usually come across as being on the show, but for casual wear you’re not looking too bad and that knowledge improves your mood somewhat. You toss your hair up to give it more life, before you decide to curve it all across one shoulder. You slip on your watch, grab your f/c handbag and turn. You’re almost at the door, before you remember about the book. You dig the one that you’d brought with you out of the bottom of your suitcase, thankful that you’d brought it with you and carry it out of the room and down to the lobby. When you get there you look around distractedly. There’s people bustling back and forth from reception that’s on the left and people coming out of the dining room that’s down a small hallway past the lifts on the right. A couple of armchairs that are close to the vending machines by the door are already taken, but one that’s tucked off in the corner opposite the lifts is free. You settle down there, keeping your handbag between your feet and an eye on the lifts as you begin to read. At first, expecting to be interrupted at any moment, you can’t concentrate. You keep fiddling with your watch, twisting it around and around your wrist and shifting your position. Every time you hear the noise of the lifts your heart jumps. But slowly you begin to get more comfortable and you sink back a little more and fold your legs. You've been reading steadily for a while by the time you hear the ping of the lifts chime again. You glance up and swallow as Mycroft walks out of one of them. He’s in an expensive dark suit with gold lining and a white, open-necked shirt. His shoes have been polished to perfection. He looks around, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt and pretends to do a bit of a double take when he sees you. Your eyes go down to your book again. He smiles, straightens up and comes across confidently to you. You swallow when his shadow falls over you and draw your book down as your eyes flick up to him. _“Oh,”_ you pretend to be surprised. You shift a little. You feel nervous at seeing him. Not just because it means that you’ll have to pretend that you aren't together once more, but because you’re afraid that he might start asking you what Moriarty had said again. 

 

“Fancy seeing you here.” His smile grows wider. He gestures at your book. “The other judges and I, if you fancy it, are going to take a little walk about,” he says as Bruno and Len, right on cue and wearing dark suits with white shirts, come out of the next lift. “That is”-he waves at your book again-“Unless your reading material is far too interesting for you to possibly be separated from it?”

 

“Well,” you raise an eyebrow, feeling more at ease from the normal way that things are playing out between you, “It is rather entertaining.”

 

“Yes,” he says with glee in his tone, “I'm sure that all the punctuation mistakes are very amusing to you.” 

 

You frown at that. You feel trapped enough without him picking on you. You stand up and draw your book to the side of your leg. “I didn't bring it to laugh at,” you tell him, “And I’d appreciate it if you could back off right now.”

 

Mycroft feels a little upset by your response. He’d just been trying to spark your fire like he always does. He hadn’t meant any true malice by it. It had been teasing, meant in jest. Now however he’s just reminded that you’re keeping something from him still. He feels a little guilty when he remembers that he himself isn't being completely honest with you. But he quickly dismisses it when he recalls how he’d shared the information about Sherlock with you. At least he’s tried to be somewhat open. You've barely let him in at all. He feels both worried and frustrated by it. What is he supposed to do to make you trust him? 

 

Your face falls when you can tell that he’s not exactly pleased by your response. You look down. 

 

A short distance away Kitty Riley who you haven’t recognized lowers the newspaper that she’d been pretending to read down and watches you both as a delicious smile plays upon her face. Her lips are blood red, her horn-rimmed glasses are primed and her hair has been elaborately styled in a way that is unrecognisable for her to enable her to go undercover with a plait at the front almost dipping down towards her eyes. It wraps around the rest of her hair, which sticks up in neat waves. Her jaguar skin jacket keeps her nice and warm in contrast to the black skirt and tights that she’s wearing along with a pair of striking black heels. She’s on the prowl and ready to go. 

 

Mycroft meanwhile looks down at you with pleading eyes. He wishes that you’d just tell him what’s wrong. 

 

Bruno and Len who have been taking their time coming across now do so at the sight of your glum expression. “If the pair of you are ready?” Bruno says, standing in front of you and grasping at your shoulders as he kisses you on both cheeks. 

 

Mycroft eyes you all the while, but even when you’re done welcoming Len and kissing him on the cheek you ignore him. Instead you shoot Bruno and Len the brightest smile that you can manage, before you turn and stride out of the hotel. You tuck your book in your bag as you go.

 

Mycroft frowns at the fact that you always seem capable of turning on the charm for Bruno and Len-Bruno especially-but not him. The expression on his face darkens even more when Bruno pats him on the shoulder in what is no doubt meant to be a comforting gesture, but which comes off as a condescending one instead, before Len and he follow you out. 

 

Mycroft swallows, before he makes his way decisively after them. You've stopped on the edge of the pavement with folded arms and you wait for Bruno and Len to go past you. Mycroft, feeling a little encouraged by the fact that you’d waited and like maybe things aren't as bad as they seem, joins you. You clear your throat and start to walk again. He looks sideways at you. You seem intent however on not saying a word as you keep your head ducked and walk quickly after the others. Mycroft looks around. He wants to properly confront you again about what you seem so keen to keep hidden from him and what comes up as a constant block whenever he tries to read it from your face-unlike Sherlock, Mycroft’s got all these emotions that get in the way when he looks at you and he can’t see things as clearly. Whilst he would never suspect that Sherlock could see something that he can’t. There are too many people though. He can’t discuss everything that he wants to here. It would be impossible. 

 

“Sorry,” you blurt out suddenly just as you reach the South Pier and Mycroft looks at you in surprise. 

 

“I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong.”

 

“Nothing’s wrong,” you say, trying to shoot him a brief but charming smile, “Everything’s fine.” 

 

Mycroft doesn’t buy it for one second. He lets out a snort, which sends you looking at him in annoyance. “F/N if everything was fine then you wouldn't be shutting down or hastening to change the topic every time Moriarty comes up.” You let out a breath and look away. “There’s also the matter of the text that you sent me earlier.” You look at him. “You don’t usually leave a kiss.” 

 

“So would you rather that I didn't show any sign that I like you?” You look away ruefully. 

 

“I suppose,” Mycroft says, wanting to clutch at your arm, but not being able to in the public space, “That the fact is I'm wondering if you did it because of that or because of any guilt you feel about not telling me what’s on your mind right now?”

 

“Not everything needs to be dissected Mycroft. I just did it automatically.” You scowl and keep your eyes fixed on the distance, increasing your pace. 

 

Knowing that he’s not going to get the answers he craves and that he’ll more than likely just end up arguing with you Mycroft desists in his quest for them for now. He’s not going to give up though. He can sense that whatever you’re keeping from him is having a big effect on you and since it’s starting to affect your relationship with him he’s determined to find out the cause. 

 

Kitty Riley’s determined too. Determined to get the story she desires, and, following you, she undoes her hair and quickly puts it into pigtails as she keeps her distance, before she takes her jacket off revealing a more demure black top. She ties her jacket around her waist and creeps forwards. 

 

You pass candy floss stalls and ice cream ones, but it’s not until an old woman with long straggly brown hair, hoop earrings and a red and brown patterned shawl approaches you that you stop properly. You’d all been walking quickly up until that point, appearing to be on too much of a mission for any members of the public to approach you. But as you become trapped behind a small group of people who are moving more slowly this woman seizes her chance. 

 

Like a vulture she claws at your arm and says, “Ah dearie.” Her fingers are gnarled and covered in rings and tattoos. Mycroft clears his throat and immediately shifts closer to you. You swallow, feeling all the more trapped. A short distance behind you Kitty whips out her phone and snaps a couple of photos. If she doesn’t get anything bigger than this today than these could come in handy. She’s pleased to see that Len and Bruno can easily be photo-shopped out of them. The old woman’s eyes glimmer against Mycroft’s for a moment, before they go back to you. “You look troubled,” she says, and her grip on you tightens as if she’s digging her talons into a prey animal. “Perhaps a little sit down with me and a reading of your fortune would improve things for you?”

 

“I don’t think that will be necessary. F/N’s very busy,” Mycroft says, speaking for you. 

 

Feeling annoyed with him for doing so and clearly reminding you of one of his faults you give him a bit of a look, before your eyes go back to the woman. “Actually,” you find yourself saying, thinking that it might be good for you to get out of there for a bit, “I believe I probably have enough time for this.” Len and Bruno are just in front of you and they turn now. “Is that all right?” You look at them. “We’re not on any sort of strict schedule are we?”

 

“Just taking time to savour Blackpool’s delights,” Bruno assures you. 

 

“But my brother is expecting us on Central Pier by eleven o’ clock. I believe that he wants to do some filming of us on the Ferris wheel for the show,” Mycroft points out with a casual, aristocratic air, but you can hear the intensity behind his tone and know that he wants to be listened to and that he definitely doesn’t want you going off with this woman. Know that he wants to take you off to a quiet corner and interrogate you about what you’re keeping from him. 

 

Feeling a little panicked because of such a thing, but trying not to show it, you check your watch. It’s a little after half-past-nine. “Well,” you announce promptly, “We have plenty of time before then.” With that you gesture that the woman should lead you to her abode. She smiles at you with yellowing teeth, before she does so. 

 

Mycroft watches you go with a frown upon his face. Once more he feels keen to find out what you’re so determined to keep from him. “I suppose,” he says, his hands in his pockets as he turns back to Bruno and Len, “That we should probably wait around here, so that F/N can come back to us easily when she comes out.”

 

Bruno nods, before he exchanges a bit of a glance with Len. “Whilst we have this opportunity then perhaps we could talk to you Mycroft?” Mycroft’s jaw clenches at that, but he nods. A little way away Kitty attempts to come forward more, so that she can hear what the male judges are saying. Could they be talking about Mycroft and you? She fails to get close enough when people constantly block her. She chews on her lip frustratedly. “I can’t help but have noticed,” Bruno looks around vaguely as he speaks as if the conversation they’re having is a most casual one, and Kitty ducks underneath a taller man so that he won’t see her, “That things seem a little tenser between F/N and you lately?”

 

“What business is that of yours?” Mycroft asks, drawing himself up and looking coolly down at the Italian. 

 

“None as such,” Bruno looks back at him, “But”-

 

“F/N’s our friend,” Len chimes in, “We don’t want her to get hurt.”

 

“I suggest then,” Mycroft bristles, “That if F/N is such a good friend to you both that you don’t put any more pressure on her.” He is not going to say that he doesn’t know what’s wrong with you. That is the closest that he’s going to get to admitting that whatever it is has, has been putting a strain on you and he doesn’t seem able to do anything to stop it because you still won’t confide in him. Still won’t be honest. He sighs inwardly. 

 

“That has never been our intention,” Bruno soothes, before his voice hardens somewhat as he goes on, “But if it turns out that you yourself could have been relieving her of some of this pressure”-

 

“It’s not me,” Mycroft growls in a low voice with a frustrated wave of his hands, “It’s probably the situation,” he guesses, “You know how hard it can be working in such an organization. But how was I supposed to know that it would affect her in this way?”

 

Bruno looks at him levelly. “You are not,” he says delicately, “Pushing her in any way?” 

 

“Of course not,” Mycroft snarls. 

 

“Or making things any more complicated than they need to be?”

 

Mycroft shakes his head at that. He dearly wants to tell them that it is _you_ who is making things all the more complicated by keeping this wretched thing from him. See what they’d make of that. But he manages to hold his tongue. This is between him and you. He’d rather that the others just backed off and not got involved. 

 

“Perhaps it is someone else who is doing the pushing then,” Bruno says, getting closer to the heart of things, “Just don’t fight what you feel inside Mycroft.” He lays a calming hand on the other man’s arm. 

 

Mycroft shrugs him off irritably and turns away with a bit of a huff, shoving his hands inside his pockets. If only it were that easy and you could just go with your emotions and not have to try and logically work out everything. If only he didn't have to figure out how to make you trust him and you just would. Then perhaps life itself would be far easier. The three men disperse a little and examine the stalls, whilst Kitty tries to remain out of sight to all three of them. Occasionally someone recognizes one of the judges and talks to them. When Mycroft hears Bruno being asked for a photo with someone and the Italian behaves in such a charming manner he feels all the more aggravated by it.

 

*

 

Meanwhile you follow the old woman into a small teepee that’s been set up not too far away from the boys. When you duck inside the smell of incense hits your nose and you can see one stick of it burning on a dark wooden shelf that’s on the right. As well as that the shelf is full of other little knick-knacks, playing cards and strange claw like objects that look like they've been collected from foreign countries. You sneeze. The woman smiles at you, draws her shawl tighter around herself and gestures that you should sit on the wooden stool that’s dead in front of you and in front of a round table draped with red cloth. It has a crystal ball upon the centre of it. As you do so you feel suddenly nervous and wish that your want to get away from Mycroft hadn’t sent you here. 

 

As if she senses that you’re beginning to regret it the woman takes up the stool opposite you and says, “I am glad that you came dear. There’s an odd aura around you that troubles me.” You swallow. She gives you an intense look, before she looks into the crystal ball. “Extend your arms and place your palms face up on the table dear.” You do so and she slips her hands over yours. You don’t like the feel of her skin. It’s clammy and it makes you prickle with unease. She repeats the pattern of looking at you first and then into the crystal ball. _“Ah!”_ She draws back from you, letting go of your hands as if she’s been burnt. You can’t know that she’d felt a jolt of electricity from your skin at the same time she’d felt a cold chill from what she’d seen in the crystal ball.

 

“What is it?” you say, putting your hands underneath your table and wiping them on your jeans. You look between her and the crystal ball. 

 

“I see trouble ahead. You will have to make a choice. There is a man. A tall man with auburn hair”-

 

Your face suddenly burns. “Right, that’s it,” you mutter and your stool falls to the ground with a crash as you stand up. The woman looks at you steadily. Her expression seems somewhere between calculating and offended. “A man? Tall with auburn hair? Of course there is,” you scoff, “Well if you think that I'm going to pay you just because you’ve regurgitated what all the gossips in the papers are saying then you’ve got another thing coming.” Again she just looks at you. You've got enough to think about right now without dealing with this rubbish. You shake your head, before you turn around and make your way out of there. 

 

Your eyes first go to Mycroft who’s doing a good job at looking completely uninterested as he peers down at one of the stalls. But it’s Bruno who’s a little further up that you go to.

 

“Ah,” he looks pleased to see you, but his face soon changes when he sees your strained expression. He grasps at your arm and moves you aside to a quieter spot. “What is it? Why are you looking so upset my darling? What did she say?” He swipes his thumb across your arm reassuredly. 

 

“Oh nothing.” You let out a big great sniff. “Just the usual rubbish.”

 

“I told you that you shouldn't have gone,” Mycroft says, swaggering up to you both now with his hands inside of his pockets. You look at him darkly, wishing that he could give you more compassion. “But no,” he carries on, “You did so want to avoid talking to me”-

 

“Not everything’s about you,” you hiss, feeling annoyed that he’s got it in one, whilst Bruno mutters, _“Mycroft,”_ warningly. Len joins you all. 

 

Mycroft only has eyes for you however. “Don’t pretend that you believe in all of that any more than I do”-

 

“Well maybe I do,” you tell him firmly, before you admit more uncertainly, “She said that my aura troubled her.”

 

Mycroft shifts his position. He feels a little uneasy about how seriously you’re taking all this-it just points to whatever it is that’s wrong with you troubling you even more and he doesn’t like the way that his heart is starting to ache as more of a conclusion forms in his mind. He tries to brush it off by saying, “She probably tells everyone that. She wouldn't be able to make money otherwise. You were just foolish enough to believe it.” You glare at him, but don’t say anything. You fold your arms. 

 

“Still, perhaps now you have returned F/N we should move on? It is getting closer to eleven after all,” Bruno suggests. 

 

You nod and move onto Central Pier. As well as the Ferris Wheel there are other fairground rides and show and family bars there. 

 

“I don’t see why you have to be so silly sometimes,” Mycroft huffs, walking alongside you once more, whilst Bruno and Len take the lead. “Don’t see why you can’t just tell me whatever’s on your mind instead of dragging it all out.”

 

“Perhaps because it’s none of your business,” you retort, and you feel so angry and you just want to get away from everything right now that you miss the hurt expression that instantly forms upon Mycroft’s face. 

 

“We’re supposed to be”- Mycroft begins, but- 

 

“Ah,” you hear Bruno say in front of you and the both of you follow his gaze to where he’s caught sight of Sherlock and John by the Ferris wheel. The boys are both carrying handheld cameras and use them to film your arrival, before they stop again. 

 

“Good,” Sherlock looks at you all, and his eyes linger on his brother for a fraction longer than anybody else. His gaze goes to you after Mycroft and you stiffen as he smirks. “Could the reason that you’re here early be because of the tension that I'm sensing between the woman you’ve been sleeping with for over the past month and you brother dear?” He looks back to Mycroft now. 

 

Mycroft looks around a little nervously. “That information’s supposed to be confidential,” he looks back to his brother. 

 

“Not to me,” Sherlock retorts crisply, “And not to the world if you keep hissing at each other in public.” He looks at you now and though you flush you keep your eyes level with his until he looks away again.

 

“Anyway,” John says, trying to get things back on track. “Since we've got a bit more time to get everything done now perhaps I could have a quick word from F/N and Len about why Blackpool’s such an important place for dance and what they’re looking forward to about the weekend and then Sherlock can go up with you on the wheel, whilst I shoot some footage from the ground?”

 

“If you want to be so obvious John then please be my guest and carry out that plan,” Sherlock says, but when you look at him you see that he’s smiling. 

 

“Git,” John nudges at his hip with his. 

 

You let out a fluttery laugh and once more Mycroft looks at you feeling sad. 

 

Len and you go off with John to find a more scenic background, whilst Bruno and Mycroft remain with the smiling Sherlock. As Mycroft watches you go the ache in his heart just increases. 

 

“Now if you’d like to air your differences on camera?” Sherlock says wickedly, holding up the camera.

 

Mycroft waves a hand, telling his brother not to be a nuisance. Bruno and he look away from one another. 

 

When you return you can sense the tension simmering between everyone and it makes you feel uneasy. 

 

“Right,” Bruno says, looking around at you all, “If we are ready then Len and I will take one of the cars, which leaves F/N and Mycroft to another. Unless you have any objections to that F/N?”

 

You swallow and glance briefly at Mycroft who looks steadily at you in return. You both know that you’d rather be anywhere but with him right now. But, knowing that Sherlock’s ready to make a comment if you go against the plan you say, “No, no objectives.” You look back at Bruno. 

 

“Right,” Bruno says, before he turns smartly and clatters up the silver steps, making for one of the cars with Len. 

 

Mycroft gestures for you to lead the way to the next one, his hand going close to your back, but when he spots that Sherlock seems keen to join the pair of you he falters. “I feel like you’d benefit from being in the same car as Bruno and Len. No doubt their lengthier experience of Blackpool on past shows will be instructive to you,” he says. 

 

 _“Really?”_ Sherlock replies, sounding surprised, and you don’t have to look over your shoulder to know that Mycroft’s got a frown on his face. You blow out a breath, hoping that neither of them will make a scene. “You see I feel sure that if I was a member of the viewing public then I’d want the camera to follow F/N and you.”

 

Mycroft gives his brother a long stare. ‘Do not be difficult now,’ it says, ‘You can be childish later. You know that F/N and I need to be alone.’

 

‘Do I?’ Sherlock raises his eyebrows. 

 

‘Yes.’ Mycroft purses his lips. 

 

Finally Sherlock replies out loud, “Perhaps you’re right.” Mycroft looks surprised at that, but pleased. You let out a breath of relief. “In any case,” Sherlock shrugs, “I expect that John will catch the best footage of you looking like a whale from the ground. Take care not to be squashed by him won’t you?” Sherlock looks at you. “It would be terribly difficult to find a last minute replacement.”

 

“So childish,” Mycroft mutters as you turn your head. “Don’t worry F/N I dare say my brother will tire from his little jokes soon. No one finds them funny after all,” and with that he places his hand on the small of your back and propels you forward up the steps and across so that you can get onto the Ferris wheel. 

 

Feeling annoyed with him you take the seat to the right, leaving Mycroft to sit opposite you. The cars had looked spacious from the ground, but now you realize just how cramped they are. You try and sit so that your knees don’t touch Mycroft’s, but in the end, because it’s so mightily uncomfortable otherwise you let them slip down and nudge against his. His eyes fix on you. “Why did you have to do that?” you say, letting him know in one sentence that just because you’re touching him doesn’t mean you’re happy with him. Mycroft looks at you. “Act like a prat with your brother?”

 

“I suppose it’s because you’re an only child that you don’t understand, but I expect that all siblings act that way,” he says. 

 

“Another thing that I don’t understand…” you muse, looking out. 

 

The Ferris wheel gives a bit of a lurch for a moment and then begins on its way. 

 

“F/N?”-

 

“Apparently on a good day you can see Wales in the South and the Lake District in the North, but I think it’s too cloudy today,” you ramble hurriedly. 

 

“We need to talk,” Mycroft says, not off put by your attempt to distract him. 

 

“I know,” you say softly, and your hands fidget as you look down. 

 

Ironically neither of you speaks for the rest of the ride. 

 

When the Ferris wheel comes to a stop and Sherlock and John deem that they've got enough footage to add to the show the other judges and you take the time to move onto the North Pier and explore that. As you do so you feel apprehensive about what will be to come later, but glad that you’ve managed to postpone what you don’t want to say. That knowledge frees up part of your mind and allows you to concentrate on other issues. “Could we go to the Tourist Information Centre, before we go back to the hotel?” you ask. “I’d like to get a postcard that I can send to my mum and I need to get something for my agent for looking after my cat too.” You take in the Victorian character of this pier as you say all that, its traditional end of pier theatre, beautiful two-storey carousel and the sun pavilion as you walk on the large deck with Len and Bruno in front of you. Mycroft finds himself smiling in spite of himself at that last remark, thinking of Goldfish 123, but he quickly stops doing such a thing when the ache inside him swells so big that it makes his chest feel tight. 

 

The Tourist Information Centre is crowded and after you reach for the postcard you want and have obtained some fudge for Lysandra you leave Bruno and Len where they’re clustered around the sweets, exchange a look with Mycroft who looks more thoughtful than you’d like as he clutches at the stick of pink rock that he’s plucked from the shelf and head out after you both pay for your things. 

 

“Did you buy that for Goldfish 123?” you nudge at him, trying to make things lighter and more bearable between you. You’re never going to survive the day if you don’t. Your hands end up close together.

 

“No, he’s probably trashing my penthouse as it is, no doubt he’s invited all of his fish friends over,” Mycroft says, trying to make an effort since you are. 

 

“But he seemed like such a good and upright little fish?” you add, feeling encouraged. 

 

“Looks can be deceiving.” Mycroft raises his eyebrows prominently. 

 

Your smile falters. 

 

No sooner have you taken a couple of steps to the left however, intending to stop so that you can put your things inside your bag and talk to Mycroft some more when a satisfied voice says, “Oh my goodness what do we have here? If it isn't our two favourite warring judges traversing Blackpool together and nearly holding hands too.” 

 

Mycroft and your hands jerk away from each other as your gazes snap to face the front and coolly stare at Kitty Riley who’s standing there. Her hair is still up in pigtails, her eyes are as sharp as ever and the multi-coloured lollipop she’s acquired from somewhere makes her look more innocent than she really is. 

 

“It appears that your mind is running away with you again Miss. Riley,” Mycroft says, drawing himself up, “If you must know it is customary for the judges to go on a walkabout together the day after arriving in Blackpool, not only for filming purposes, but so that we actually get a chance to look at things too. We’re very busy people you know. This isn't a jaunt for us.”

 

“Ah, but where are your fellow judges?” Kitty says, looking in between you both now, “It seems like you are quite alone to me?”

 

“They’re inside getting sweets. F/N and I had concluded our business there, so we decided to take the opportunity to escape back into the fresh air.”

 

“You didn't want to use the opportunity to take some time alone together then?” Kitty asks knowingly, half her gaze on Mycroft and you and the other part looking through the window. She can’t see either Bruno or Len and at first she feels excited by such a thing. Has she really genuinely managed to catch the pair of you out? But then a couple shift aside to reveal Bruno and Len. Not about to let this disappoint her though she turns her gaze promptly back to Mycroft and says, “Ah, you’re correct. They are inside getting sweeties. But are they here today to help cover things up between F/N and you? That’s what I assume all my readers will want to know.”

 

“If you ever tire of supposedly being a respectable journalist Miss. Riley then perhaps you could venture into storytelling? You’d make a wonderful fiction writer,” Mycroft tells her. 

 

“Why thank you Mr. Holmes,” Kitty smiles at Mycroft as if he’s just been cute and you feel a stab of annoyance inside you. She looks at you and her expression becomes a pleased one, which makes you feel even more irritated with her, before she asks, “Does he call you Miss. L/N, F/N?” She steps a little closer to you. “Or does he have a nickname for you?” 

 

“Yes, I call her ‘The Woman Who Annoys Me On Live TV,’” Mycroft says sardonically. 

 

Kitty ignores him and her gaze grows more intense as she asks, “A pet name perhaps? Something that he only whispers to you amongst other sweet nothings late, late at night?” Your mouth opens slightly and a rather desperate look appears on your face as your hands clench even tighter around your purchases. Your face feels stained with a blush and your mind hums with angry noise. Mycroft might not call you anything, but even if he did then how dare this woman try and intrude on something that should be private! Kitty looks all the more pleased. “Have you melted the Iceman Miss. L/N?”

 

You turn your head and look Mycroft up and down, trying to be dismissive and casual. “Do you really think he looks as if he’s melted?” you ask, looking back at her. 

 

“Well he’s certainly shown a softer side to him this year,” Kitty attempts to pry, “I don’t think we've ever seen him laugh or be so giving, but perhaps,” and Kitty reaches for you now, curling her hand around your arm and revealing her talon like blood painted nails, “You could talk about that with me?”

 

“You want to discuss a load of fantasy with me?” you ask her incredulously just as Len and Bruno exit the Tourist Information Centre, both carrying a white plastic bag full of goodies. 

 

“Is everything all right?” Bruno says, stepping level with Mycroft and you. Len follows suit. 

 

Kitty lets go of you and smiles sweetly at them. “Tell me,” she asks, “What word would you use to describe the relationship between Mycroft and F/N?”

 

“Is there a reason for all of your questions?” Bruno queries.

 

“You don’t want to answer that? How very interesting,” she says. You make a sound of annoyance in your throat and Mycroft shifts his position. Kitty brings her lollipop up to her lips and sucks on it for a moment. “It’s a shame too of course,” she goes on conversationally, “But then I'm sure that I’ll get what I want from F/N.”

 

“From F/N?” Len asks, trying to keep up now.

 

“Yes,” Kitty says, smiling at him as if he’s just been a funny old man, “I'm conducting an exclusive interview with her.”

 

“No one will be conducting an interview, exclusive or otherwise, with F/N today,” Bruno says, his face serious and his eyes glimmering. 

 

“No?” she looks at you all, before her face goes back to you. “Quite a band of protectors you’ve got here.” She looks almost satisfied as she touches at your cheek with the lollipop. The sticky substance of it makes you want to shudder as she pulls the lollipop away, but you’re determined not to show any more emotion. You just stare steadily at her instead. “But I wouldn't expect it to last,” she chews on the lollipop, “These things always have a habit of coming out. In the end. I suppose the question you need to ask yourself is which one of these men will betray you for money F/N? Will it be your friends that sell you out? Or will it be the lover you’re trying to keep hidden?” She looks at you all with something deeply contented about her face, before she turns on her heel and walks away. Mycroft, Bruno, Len and you all stare after her, your faces tense.

 

“That wretched hag,” you mutter.

 

“It will not be either of us who betray you F/N,” Bruno says, gesturing to Len and himself when you look at him. 

 

You look at Mycroft. He doesn’t say anything. Your heart sinks. You wish he’d reassure you that your heart is safe with him and that he won’t betray you. Wish that you could trust him. He’s too busy looking around with narrowed eyes that are full of suspicion though to look at you and to spot all of your silent pleas. He sees a man close by who catches his attention from the way that he keeps constantly looking up in an agitated fashion from his phone. His eyes dart across to Mycroft and Mycroft spots the stains of ink that are on his hands. Getting the sense that the man’s in league with Kitty he averts his eyes, before he mutters to you a moment later, “Two o’ clock.”

 

“What?” you ask, before when Mycroft gives a pointed jerk of his head you get the hint and look across at the man. 

 

“He’s waiting to see if I’ll wipe the lollipop stain off your cheek. You’ll have to do it yourself.” He turns away from you. 

 

Inwardly cursing journalists and their nerve you put your fudge and postcard into your bag at long last, dig out a handkerchief and rub the outward mark that Kitty had left on you off. 

 

*

 

That night the pair of you lie in Mycroft’s room, half-turned into each other on the bed underneath the covers as you wear a white nightgown and Mycroft wears a grey t-shirt and dark blue boxer shorts. You've been lying there for a while. You’re not touching each other and your eyes are lost and away, whilst his fix on yours.

 

Finally, as Mycroft shifts his position ever so slightly and sends you spinning out of thought, you say, “Mary once said that if it was important then you’d go against Moriarty.”

 

Mycroft sits up now. “I don’t know why you take so much stock of what Mary says. I’ve told you before that she’s neck deep in Moriarty’s pocket”-

 

“And I’ve told you so many things before too,” you interrupt him, sitting up and you sound so distant that it makes Mycroft look back at you. He raises an eyebrow and once more he feels sad, but now he feels afraid too. “Do you remember when you once told me that you thought I had more fight in me?” 

 

Mycroft feels a tightening of something inside his stomach. “What’s he got on you?” he asks in a heavy fashion, leaning back. You smile ruefully at the way that he always seems to be able to get to the heart of whatever’s on your mind. You look away. It takes a considerable effort for Mycroft to push the words, “Whatever it is, is making you want to give this up isn't it? Give _me_ up?” out of his mouth. You swallow and look away. Eventually you nod. “I thought so,” Mycroft says, once more in that tired voice. 

 

“Sometimes I think that I should never have agreed to be in a relationship with you until you’d broke off the one that you have with Moriarty”-

 

“Moriarty and I”- Mycroft breaks off when you let out a dark snort. “F/N,” he tries again, “Don’t distract the issue. Don’t make out like that’s the sole problem here”-

 

“Isn't it?” You push the duvet back violently and get out of bed. You stride a couple of steps towards the window. 

 

“You know it’s not.” Mycroft gets out of bed too. “Whatever he’s got on you, whatever you’re afraid of”-

 

“The only thing that I'm afraid of right now is giving my heart to you completely and it not working out”-

 

“You can trust”-

 

“No I can’t! Not when you keep things from me and decide what I should know like I'm some child who needs their life ordered.”

 

“You know you keep putting everything on me, making out like how I'm the problem when it suits. But you might care to remember that I’ve been open with you.” You turn to him, your mouth dropping open. Mycroft looks at you levelly, but holds onto what he needs to get out when he takes a step forwards and says, “I told you about Sherlock. I told you about how this organization works and why my hands are tied.” You let out a bitter snort, bite quickly down on your lip and turn your head away. “I can’t leave, but I did hope that by being more honest with you, you in turn would be more honest with me and tell me why you’ve been so scared and reluctant to go through with this from the very beginning.” 

 

“I wouldn't have let you tell me anything at all if I’d known that you’d expect something in return.” You look back at him with dark eyes, feeling like a trapped animal. 

 

“A relationship is about give and take. At least that’s what they've always been to me,” he informs you evenly. 

 

You fold your arms over your chest. “I’ve given you my body. Isn't that enough?” 

 

Mycroft blows out a breath. “Of course I appreciate that, but if we are ever going to have a proper relationship with one another-a relationship that’s more than about sex-then we need to be able to trust one another. I can’t trust you fully when I know that you’re keeping something from me and I know that you still don’t believe that I'm being honest, despite my best attempts to prove otherwise to you.” 

 

“ ‘Your best attempts to be honest?’ Aside from telling me about Sherlock what exactly have you done? You've been the same cold, calculating person you were before we started all this”-

 

“That’s not true, F/N, I’ve been trying”-

 

“No you haven’t,” you screech, before you look away from him, huffing out a breath. Mycroft feels frustrated and he’s on the verge of saying that you have no idea how hard it was to tell you about Sherlock. About to say that it’s the fact that he doesn’t know what Moriarty might do to Sherlock that is terrifying and which ultimately prevents him from standing up to the man. That and the way that it went so wrong before. He’s about to say that you have no idea how hard its been generally to express his feelings ever since this started. Yet before he can you say, “I should never have got involved here,” and that throws him off onto a different track. 

 

“Just tell me what are you so scared of?” You shake your head. “If it could help us in the future then don’t you think that you should share it with me?” He wishes in that moment that you could see how desperate he is. Desperate to be the one that you’re more open to and the person that you feel safe enough to express the more vulnerable side of yourself to. 

 

Again you shake your head, trying to outwardly ignore his plea, but feeling more and more panicked on the inside because he wants something that you can’t give him. “I mean for God’s sake we only came together because Moriarty pushed us,” you say, clutching onto the first negative thought that you can coherently grasp at. “Would the idea have ever occurred to us otherwise?” Sensing that you’re getting emotionally further away from him Mycroft takes another step forwards now. You look longingly at the door, before you look back at him. “I should have listened to Bruno when he told me you were a snake and to that feeling I’ve had every time you’ve said something that’s made me doubt you”-

 

“For God’s sake this has got nothing to do with Bruno”-

 

“You’re easily jealous,” you point, “That’s another reason why I should stay away from you”-

 

“F/N this has got nothing to do with Bruno or Mary and I'm even doubting that it has much to do with Moriarty at the moment. As I have been trying to get through to you this is all to do with whatever you’re desperate to keep from me and whatever’s ultimately preventing you from seeing things how they really are”-

 

“Not a lecture about reality again”-

 

“F/N,” Mycroft huffs out a breath, clamping his hands on your upper arms, “Whatever it is. Just tell me. We can try and work something out here.” 

 

You shake your head and wriggle against his grasp a little. “You can’t fix this.” You look off to the side fearfully. 

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because you can’t change the past Mycroft.” You look at him. A beat passes between you both. His fingers grip onto you all the more securely. “I can’t tell you.” 

 

“Then what are you going to do?” Mycroft lets go of you. A feeling of disappointment swirls up inside him. “Walk away from here? You must know that even if you broke up with me right now then Moriarty would still expect”-

 

You feel a keen sting cause a crack across your heart. You take a step back. You sniff a little and brush against your nose with your arm. “You always put him first,” you say in a hurt tone. 

 

 _“F/N,”_ Mycroft says in a weary voice, as if he’s begging you not to go down that route again. He’s fed up of going around in circles with you about Moriarty. He wants the truth and he wants it now. 

 

“No you do, you always take into account what he’d want even though I know you know he’s a bastard. I know that much at least,” you say that last part more to yourself. Mycroft looks at you. “Do you have any idea how hard this is?”

 

“Of course I”-

 

“No, I mean really hard.” You rake a hand back through your hair, before you fling it down again. “I really wanted this job Mycroft. Really, really wanted it.” Tears squeeze out of your eyes. “Now I'm actually getting to the point where I think I should just leave it. Leave it because that would be so much easier than trying to be with you or dealing with all of Moriarty’s crap”-Mycroft opens his mouth-“But I can’t even do that because do you know what that bastard said? He said that if I go and if I don’t do what he wants then he’ll drag everything that happened with my father up again”-

 

“Your father?” Mycroft says curiously, taking a step forwards. Your mouth closes abruptly. You turn away from him. Your body begins to vibrate and tremble. You've already said too much because of his inability to understand that some things should remain private, because of him pushing and pushing you. _“F/N?”_ His hands slip gently upon your waist. 

 

“There.” You step out of his embrace. “I’ve said what this is about. Are you happy now?”

 

“Will you tell me more?” he asks. 

 

Feeling like finally you’ve been left with little choice slowly you spin back to face him. “There’s a lot to it,” you say, trying to sound casual, trying to sound as if you’re unaffected, as if your stomach isn't sloshing right now, as if you’re not beginning to feel sick, “But do you remember how you once said that you thought Sherlock could have amounted to more?” Mycroft doesn’t like how you’re once more not getting to the point, but he nods. “Well, that’s how I feel about my dad.” Mycroft’s eyes are calculating as he listens, but he shifts closer, acting as a reassuring presence despite everything. You rub just beneath his shoulders, taking in that familiar coconut scent. “When I was four after he left and growing up I spent a lot of time just wishing that he could have been there for Mum and me, that he could have been the husband she wanted and the Daddy that I needed.” You swallow, keeping your head down. “That he could have played with me and not talked down to me, just talked to me _normally…_ instead of going to the pub all the time and grumbling and yelling when he was around. There was so much yelling”- you break off and look at Mycroft now. He can see the shiny tears that are upon your face and suddenly it’s like guilt larger than any he’s had before stabs at him.

 

“Come,” he murmurs, turning around and leading you to the bed. “I need to tell you something.” 

 

You swallow and a flutter of apprehension rises up inside you, but you follow him nonetheless. He sits down upon the bed’s edge and you stand in between his legs. He’s just about to speak again when there comes a creak from outside the door. You let out a jerk of breath and Mycroft’s head whips around over his shoulder. He looks back at you. A look of frozen fear is upon your face. Your soft breaths escape your mouth and you’re still crying. One of your hands goes to the back of his neck and rubs at the hairs there, whilst the other drapes upon his shoulder. His hands go to your waist where they rub soothing circles upon it as you both listen. There comes another creak. Mycroft lets out a bit of a fake cough that has you jumping. He makes a shushing sound of apology. Another creak comes just as suddenly, before you can hear the sound of hurried, retreating footsteps. Mycroft pushes you back gently, but firmly, gets up and runs so that he can open the door and look out. He’s just in time to see familiar ginger hair disappearing around the corner. A sinking sensation settles in the pit of his stomach as he closes the door. 

 

When he turns back to you you’re standing at the bottom of the bed staring at him. You know instinctively whom he’d just seen. “That is exactly why I can’t do this any more.” You swipe your tears away with your hands. “People listening in all the time…what’s the point of us even trying to have a relationship if it doesn’t have the space that’s needed to grow? What were you about to say?” you ask him. 

 

Mycroft looks suddenly sheepish. “It was nothing,” he murmurs, looking down now. 

 

 _“Mycroft?”_ Your brow furrows. You approach him. “Please don’t keep anything from me. I’ve just been truthful with you.”

 

“I know you have,” he breathes, lifting his head up to look at you as you stop in front of him and put your hands on his arms. “I want to do the same with you, but it came out of me all of a sudden. Now that I’ve thought about it some more however I’m not sure that you’ll be as understanding.” 

 

“Just tell me,” you squeeze at his arm encouragingly. 

 

He swallows. “It’s to do with Moriarty.” You let go of him. He looks nervous. “You know of course that he’s been encouraging our relationship?”

 

Dread forms inside you. You step back. “Please don’t tell me that all this time you’ve just been with me so”-

 

“No,” Mycroft gets out, “But after what happened with Irene, after I threatened to go against Moriarty in front of her, he made me tell him things”-

 

“What things?” you ask, your eyes flaring dark. 

 

Mycroft swallows again. “Anything I could about us, about you…to build up a picture of what you were like when we were alone…the way you’d speak, the sorts of things that you’d say”-

 

“So all along, after every time we made love you’ve just been going straight from mine to his with a report? Is that what you’re saying?” Your voice shakes with anger. 

 

“No,” Mycroft gets out pleadingly. “Like I said it wasn’t from the beginning. He just wanted to keep me in line after Irene. I think he wanted to stir things up more. To help Kitty, that’s why he probably made me text her and invite her to listen in outside my room tonight”-

 

“You invited her? You’re the reason that she was there just now? She heard me? Everything that I said? Me being so honest?” 

 

“I didn't have a choice. Sherlock”- Mycroft swings his head from side to side. He looks back at you. 

 

“You had a choice! You just chose not to do the right thing. Just like you always do.” 

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

 

“That means all the stupid times you’ve put Moriarty before me! All the childishness that you try and cover with brooding intensity! As if that makes it any better! Whilst we’re on the subject it means how you’ve probably given Kitty Riley everything that she needs to write an exclusive on me with or without my consent!” 

 

 _“F/N,”_ Mycroft says, taking a step forward. 

 

“I'm going now.” You take a step back, pointing at him. “I'm going because I can’t trust you and I should never have done so.” 

 

“You can”-

 

“No I can’t!” you yell, properly beside yourself now. Your tears flow once more. “How can I when you’re so much in his pocket just like everyone else is? When you pretend that you don’t push but you do? You might not have forced yourself on me in the dressing room the first time we kissed but you persuaded me with words that, that would be the right thing to do. Just like you made me say so much now. I'm not going to stand for it any more. For the way you draw so much out of me. The way you manipulate me. Not when I can’t trust you.” Mycroft opens his mouth. “I can’t stay with you. You have to know that.” Your body begins to shake. “A-As long as Moriarty’s in the background all the time”-you wave vaguely behind you-“How am I supposed to trust that it’s your honest side operating and not the side that’s just kissing me and telling me all those things to please him? Just so that you can stay in this job and look after your brother?” You swing around and grab your pile of clothes.

 

“F/N”-

 

“We’re done Mycroft. We’re through.” You storm out of there. You take a moment just to adjust to the dimly lit corridor, taking breath after breath, and as you do so you suddenly feel like someone’s watching you. As if the night can’t get any worse Kitty is standing at the other end of the corridor. Before you can do anything more than open your mouth she’s lifted up the phone she’s carrying and snapped a photo. You swallow, turn on your heel and flee back to your hotel room; your footsteps light like a gazelle’s. Your heart feels angry and heavy, but in that moment you feel too reckless to care. Let them talk you think. As you enter your room you let out an anguished cry, throw your clothes on the floor and fall in a heap on the bed. There you cry yourself to sleep until the pale light of morning brings you into being once more. 

 

*

 

This should be, quite frankly, you waking up to one of the happiest days of your life. You get to go to the Tower Ballroom and tonight you’ll be part of a big show there, but you just feel empty aside from the grogginess that threatens to overwhelm you. You dress and check your phone unenthusiastically. You've got an excited text from your mum saying that she’s looking forward to the show tonight. You groan a little and head for the hotel dining room where you have scrambled eggs on toast for breakfast. You’re sure that it would be fine on a normal day, but today the toast feels too crunchy and the egg threatens to choke you. You finally give up after having eaten less than half of it and head to the lobby ready to meet Bruno and Len. 

 

“Is Mycroft not joining us?” Bruno asks. You shrug as if to say, _‘How would I know?’_ Bruno takes you in more. “Are you feeling well my darling? You’re looking a bit peaky. You've had enough to eat and drink?” he checks. 

 

“Yeah,” you lie. Your lips already feel dehydrated because you’d spent too much time messing around with your breakfast to have any tea and your stomach is already on the verge of rumbling. You hope that it will hold off at least in Bruno’s presence. You shove your hands in your pockets and head outside, missing the look of anxiety that Bruno and Len share. 

 

“I hope that you’re rushing because you simply can’t wait to see the ballroom,” Bruno says when Len and he catch up with you. 

 

You stop and let out a bit of a breath. You feel suddenly dizzy. “Mycroft and I broke up last night.” Your fists clench even tighter inside your pockets. 

 

“Mutually?” Bruno puts a hand on your back. 

 

“Not exactly,” you utter, “I trusted him with something, the biggest thing that I have and he basically repaid me by saying that he’s put Moriarty first all this time. I can’t be with him like that, so I had to end it.” Bruno does some very impressive swearing in Italian and Len lets out a few grumbles and a sigh. 

 

“I'm sorry F/N,” the head judge says, grasping at your shoulder, as you turn towards them properly. 

 

“You are better off without him if he dares to treat you so callously and not respect your worth,” Bruno says vehemently, and he looks as if he’s seething with anger as he rocks back and forth on his heels. 

 

You nod, giving them a forced smile. Len and Bruno squeeze at your arms as if to give you extra strength and you smile at them in a strained fashion, before, determined not to cry or think about last night too much, you go on your way again. 

 

Sherlock and John are amongst the camera people already there when you get to the Tower, and as you make your way inside the ballroom for the first time they’re on hand to film you. 

 

You feel awed and overwhelmed. Compared to the studio the dance floor here is huge and you wonder suddenly how the couples are possibly going to fill it. The room is so grand and has such presence that it is a character all on its own and you feel as if you’re stepping into sacred, holy ground. For a moment you forget about Mycroft and everything else and just let the enormity of this space and the feeling like there’s something more important than you fill you up. Goose pimples coat your skin as you look across the floor with an open mouth. 

 

“Ah yes, it is rather affecting isn't it?” Bruno turns towards you with a smile. You close your mouth and grin a little breathlessly back at him. “Would you care for”-

 

Clear, loud footsteps echo behind you and the both of you turn your heads, before you move around completely as Mycroft stops in front of you. 

 

He looks at you steadily for a moment and your mouth tightens as all the pain you feel at seeing him again turns into rage. “Would you care to dance?” he offers you his hand. 

 

To his displeasure you shift closer to Bruno at once and sniff as you look down disapprovingly at his hand. “I think I’d rather dance with someone who thinks I have value.” You link Bruno’s arm with yours and lead him out onto the floor. “Sorry,” you say when you turn towards the Italian as you reach the centre of the floor. 

 

He bows his head politely as you assume a ballroom pose and begin to gently sway together. The sprung floor seems to catch every movement of your feet and send you soaring up. It supports you so well that you barely have to touch it. “It is most understandable my darling.” 

 

“He’s got a nerve,” you say, looking at Mycroft darkly over Bruno’s shoulder as the Italian moves you around. Mycroft’s standing there in his navy suit, white shirt, dark tie that has a splash of glitter on and got his hands in his pockets. His face looks tight with jealousy as he watches you with dark eyes, the blue of them nearly inscrutable in his rage. Bruno and you turn again. “Acting that way, so _normally,_ after what he said last night when he knows that I know he just wants to please Moriarty.” 

 

“Ignore him my darling. You are free from him now. You did the right thing last night.” 

 

You nod, but when Bruno and you finish your little dance you remain out on the floor, watching as the famous Wurlitzer rises as Bruno makes his way back to Mycroft. 

 

“You should have treated her better when you had the chance to,” the Italian tells him. 

 

Mycroft’s jaw tightens. “Do you really not think I see her as having worth? You know how I was before she came”-

 

“Yet I do not find myself feeling convinced that you’ve changed as much as you seem to think that you have. Once the Iceman, always the Iceman. Is that not the case?” Bruno looks at him coolly, before he looks quickly over his shoulder at where you’re still standing on the floor to avoid the death glare that Mycroft is giving him. “In any case it is not me that you have to prove that to,” he says looking back at Mycroft, before he moves a little away from the auburn-haired judge. 

 

You clap along to the nice tune the Wurlitzer plays as its lights flash when you hear other people doing so, but you feel bruised. You know that it should have been Mycroft you’d just danced with and you feel upset again about what had happened last night and at how Mycroft just seems to want to get things back on track, so he can carry on keeping Moriarty happy. As you stand there the smile on your face is forced and you’ve never been less appreciative of beauty. 

 

*

 

A little while later when the judges are no longer needed, Bruno, Len, Mycroft and you take the lift in the Tower up to the viewing platform. In the lift you feel sticky, hot and uncomfortable. It’s almost like how you’d felt waiting backstage during your first show when the other judges and you had been lifted up on the platform to the stage. You’re very self-conscious of every small movement your body makes, right down from your fingers to your toes and the wild, erratic beating of your heart. You feel a little sick and dizzy again and though Bruno and Len shield you from Mycroft you can still smell that dreadful scent of coconut, the one that you’d felt he’d been painting you in sometimes as you’d made love. You let out a little breath and thankfully the lift opens again. Bruno and Len move forwards and you step out in a rather stumbling fashion after them.

 

“Are you all right?” Mycroft asks. 

 

You ignore him and go to stand on Bruno’s left side, stepping gingerly onto the two-inch clear panels that look straight down to the prom and road below. You don’t want to, but the further you can get away from Mycroft the better. You feel even sicker as you look at all the traffic whizzing by and see how the people look like ants. Your head spins and as your vision starts to blur you take a deep breath, before you look up and concentrate on looking out at all the piers and the sea. 

 

Mycroft steps beside you. “We’re three hundred and eighty feet up,” he tells you. 

 

Your stomach gives a little lurch. “Unless you want me to be sick all over that suit, and I would you know, I’d waste no hesitation in being sick over you, but I’d hate to be sick all over Bruno”-a muscle clenches in Mycroft’s jaw and you feel pleased-“Then I suggest you shut up right now.” 

 

“It would be worse if you were a maintenance worker.” Mycroft looks sideways at you. “You’d have to climb five hundred and thirty six steps just to get to this point. Imagine how tired and dizzy you’d feel once you stepped out here. You’d probably feel like the ground was coming up to kiss you.” 

 

That’s all it takes for your stomach to jerk more strongly. You lurch forwards and let out a fluttery breath. Bruno and Mycroft both grab onto your shoulders. The men look at each other in distaste, before their gazes turn more worried as they look at you. 

 

“F/N”- Mycroft breathes. 

 

“My darling are you all right?” Bruno interrupts. 

 

“Fine,” you wave a hand, but as you move and try and escape both of their grips you go all wobbly again and end up slumping sideways against Mycroft who puts an arm around your waist to support you. You can smell the scent of coconut even stronger now and suddenly you just want it to overwhelm and drown you, so that you might forget how you’d put faith in a man just for him to betray you. But you can’t forget, and since this is Mycroft you’re leaning against you try and push yourself off him. You don’t want anything from him right now, not his fake help, nothing. Not even his scent. You straighten yourself up, but stumble again. This time your hip knocks into Bruno’s. “I just need to sit down for a moment. I’ll be all right once I do that and eat something proper.” 

 

“You haven’t eaten?” Mycroft asks, both angry and concerned. 

 

“Not much.” 

 

Mycroft looks at Bruno accusingly. “Since you’re so appreciative of F/N I thought that you would have made sure that she’d eaten?”

 

“She said that she had,” Bruno waves a hand, whilst he still half-holds onto you with his other. 

 

“Sorry,” you pant, feeling guilty as well as sick and turning your head towards the Italian. “I was just”- 

 

Bruno accepts your apology without words. “In any case,” he looks back at Mycroft, “I think we all know what the reason was for her not doing so.” 

 

Annoyed at them starting to fight you stumble backwards and attempt to push Mycroft’s arm off you as you turn and stagger towards the lift. Thankfully the viewing platform-as is the entire Tower-is closed to the public today and so it’s only the four of you up there. Someone clutches at your arm and steers you the rest of the way. It’s only when you settle down on the floor with them at the side of the lift that you realize that it’s Mycroft. 

 

“I suppose you’re panicking now,” you huff out, “That you won’t be able to please your master.”

 

“I’m more worried about you actually”- he begins, keeping his head half-turned towards you and carefully avoiding Bruno’s eyes who are looking back at you.

 

 _“Don’t.”_ You raise a hand to Mycroft now. 

 

Bruno moves in the next moment as if he’s going to come across to you, but Len places a hand on his arm. Bruno looks back at him. “Give them a moment,” the eldest judge jerks his head at Mycroft and you. Reluctantly Bruno nods and turns to look back out again.

 

Mycroft grabs onto your arm. “You must know that I hold you in high regard?” he asks. 

 

“I don’t know anything right now. Especially when it’s coming from you,” you tell him, looking towards the other judges. 

 

Mycroft swallows and you can’t know how desperate he feels. Finally, in an attempt to try and make you soften from another more long-winded angle he says, “I didn't know that you were afraid of heights.” 

 

“Good. You should text that to our boss. Maybe you’ll stay in his favour then,” you get out cuttingly. 

 

“F/N! You must know that I haven’t been faking this. Think of what you discovered the first night that you allowed me to come to your house”-

 

 _“No!”_ You turn your head sharply towards him. Bruno and Len look back in alarm, but they don’t do anything. “I don’t want to think about that mistake right now!” you hiss. “All your lies, the way I just let you have me so easily”- _‘The way that I’ve clearly learnt absolutely nothing from my mother despite the fact that I thought that I had,’_ your thoughts go on. 

 

“It wasn’t a mistake,” Mycroft cries, his voice getting slightly higher now. 

 

“Of course it was.” You shrug him off. “I trusted you,” you say and your voice grows lower as you begin to feel all the more upset. “I trusted you last night with the information about my father.” Mycroft opens his mouth. “I know Moriarty already knows and perhaps to you it seems trivial because of that, but I have never opened up to anyone about that”-

 

“I'm sorry I”- Mycroft begins breathlessly, looking forlorn at the fact that he’d only half-understood how important the information you were imparting to him was. 

 

“Then for you to come out with that, that you’ve been going behind my back”-you wave a hand at him-“When I hoped you were keeping me in the loop and informed about everything, especially when you could see how upset I got when you didn't tell me about the cameras before. I prayed that you’d leant your lesson”-

 

“I”-

 

“Why don’t you just go and do everything that Irene and Sebastian do for our boss hmm?” Mycroft’s eyes widen in horror. “You've taken things this far, might as well take the next step. Maybe he’d be happy with you then. Maybe it would make up for you letting him down now because I am never telling you anything or sharing myself with you ever again”-

 

“F/N please,” Mycroft finds himself blurting out, before he can stop himself. You try and wriggle up, but he grabs at your arm and you find yourself sitting down again. “Think of”-

 

“No”-

 

“Think of Sherlock if not me, we have to keep this pretence going, no matter how things really are between us.”

 

You let out a mocking laugh, wrench your arm away from him and heave yourself to your feet. “You’re pathetic.” Mycroft stands up and you turn to face him. Bruno half-steps towards you. “You have the nerve to expect me to keep going with it all as if nothing has happened after what you told me last night? After you broke the little trust that I had given you?”

 

Mycroft’s face darkens now. You turn around, but before you can even take a couple of steps towards Bruno, Mycroft says, “Perhaps if you can’t put someone else above yourself then you’re not as worthy as I previously thought you were.” 

 

Your shoulders stiffen at that. You can feel your breaths trembling inside your chest. 

 

“That’s enough,” Bruno says, not being able to stop himself from intervening any more. He joins you and steers you around towards the lift. Len follows. “You’re the one who’s not worthy to have her,” Bruno tells Mycroft, his grip tightening on you as you all move past him. A muscle tenses in Mycroft’s jaw. 

 

*

“You said earlier about how I must know that you think F/N of worth and I do believe that,” Bruno says quietly to Mycroft when they come to a stop from where they’d been making their way backstage. “I could feel the sad energy that was between you as you sat together on the viewing platform and when I danced with her. It was dripping down the very Tower itself.” He pauses. “But you will never re-gain her trust if you do not manage to suppress your own feelings of hurt. You have to treat her with delicacy and say things in a certain way. More than that you have to stand up to James Moriarty. I fear that is the only way you’ll ever win her back.”

 

“I can’t do that,” Mycroft says. 

 

“Then you will be alone for the rest of your days,” Bruno tells him sadly, before he goes on his way again. 

 

Mycroft stares after him, before he makes his way to where you’re waiting backstage.  
Your hair is up aside from thin ringlets that curl down by your face and you’ve got on a striking glittering long golden dress with a high collar. “You look very nice,” he attempts, trying to focus on what your outfit does for you and not your eyes, which look red and a little puffy. He hasn’t seen you since the viewing platform earlier and he doesn’t have to take much of a guess as to what you’ve been doing since. But even so the stubborn side of him tells him that he’ll surely be able to win you back without having to go against Moriarty. You look at him blankly. He thinks you’re taking in his white shirt, black bow-tie and dark jacket that has black swirls upon its shoulders, but instead your mind is just going back through what it has done all afternoon. Thoughts that beyond you feeling angry for yourself think that tonight  
there won’t be any sneaking around the hotel. Think that there will be no photos for Kitty Riley to take and you feel grateful that for whatever reason she must have held off on publishing them today because otherwise you would have surely heard of them by now. There will be no Mycroft holding you in his arms. You won’t be washing off the smell of coconut in your morning shower and he won’t taste your fire in his mouth. There will probably be no playful banter at the judges desk. You ache and ache and ache, before you realize that Mycroft’s there, looking at you, and you look away again. 

 

A moment later you feel grateful when Tess calls “…judges. Len Goodman and Bruno Tonioli. And F/N L/N and Mycroft Holmes.”

 

You stride out and Mycroft follows after you. You don’t realize how close he is and as you turn, so that he can give you a little spin your hip knocks against his. A jerk of breath leaves your mouth. He takes your wrong hand awkwardly and you end up doing a quick twirl beneath his arm, whilst your skin prickles from the effect of the space and the larger crowd than normal, before you join where Bruno and Len are in front of the judges desk. Bruno gives you a little spin and kisses at your shoulder as the music comes to an end. You turn to Mycroft and for a moment both of your hands just hover in between you as if they might touch. You look at him with an open mouth and he does the same to you. For a moment the aching part of you thinks that something might happen. That he might kiss you in this most romantic of settings. Sweep you off your feet. But off course he doesn’t. Instead his mouth just closes abruptly, he swivels on his heel and goes to take his seat. You have to wriggle behind him just to get to yours. 

 

As the show progresses everyone is so excited and there’s a special energy on the floor and in every dance. All the couples seem to be performing better than ever. But it’s like this vibe, as close to you as it gets, remains within touching distance and doesn’t quite reach you. You don’t stand up and do impressions of a move or wave your hands about like Bruno does who seems to be trying to get you to laugh. You don’t smile in both a warm and encouraging manner at the couples like Len and you don’t scribble frantically like Mycroft-who seems to have gone into work mode albeit in a black fashion. Apart from writing down the odd note you just sit back and feel as if you’re in as much of a daze as you’ve been in all day. It had been bad this morning, but as soon as Mycroft had said what he had about maybe you not being worth anything after all your mind had gone into lock down just to try and shield yourself from noticing anything else that might hurt. You’d already experienced the maximum harm from him after all. You don’t want to feel any more. You try to score as you usually would, but you can tell that although you don’t want it to be your scoring is being affected by your mood when you routinely end up marking lower than Bruno and Len. Mycroft too is scoring low, giving out four and fives and being booed for it. His comments are brusquer too, each word intending to be as dangerous as a crevasse and a trap that you might fall into. If he can just get you to respond and manage to provoke you into arguing with him then he’ll be some way to restoring things to normal between you. You don’t however. You feel too numb to get angry. Mycroft looks at you disappointedly. 

 

The night moves on and as it finally comes to an end with both Molly and Greg surviving you think that, that’s something at least and head back to your hotel room. Most of the others are going out drinking, but you don’t feel in the mood to. Both Bruno and John had failed to persuade you. You’ll be leaving Blackpool for home the next day and right now you feel grateful for such a thing. Blackpool hasn’t been the experience that you’d wanted it to be and you wish that Midnight were beside you. Stroking his soft fur and watching his independent ways would really help you feel better right now. You hope that Lysandra’s been looking after him. Feeling homesick and emotional after your long and very tiring day you turn on your side and cry.

 

*

 

In his own hotel room Mycroft lies on his back awake in bed. His bedside lamp is still on and he gazes at the shapes that the light makes against the ceiling. His mind feels a little sluggish, but though he’s tired he just keeps thinking about Bruno’s words and how lonely he’d felt during the show without being able to interact properly with you and talk to you in between all the couples dancing. He thinks back to the top of the show. He knows that you’d hoped that he’d kiss you. But would that really have improved things? For one it would have sent the Strictly world into meltdown and chaos and given you a lot of attention that you wouldn't have wanted and for another it would have probably just sent you going back around in that same circle. Back into trying to have a relationship until you decided that you still couldn't trust him and you would have probably blamed him for being manipulative. He frowns. He knows that he should have probably been more honest and told you what Moriarty wanted. That way you would have felt even more included and you could have even discussed what he might say together, so that you wouldn't feel as hurt by the fact that Kitty now knows all these things about you. He feels guilty about that, of course he does. He’s not that man. Not the man who betrays the people he cares about. But at the same time he wishes that you could just see things from his perspective and understand how difficult the position he’d been put in is. Understand that he’s not a man for grand gestures like kissing you in the middle of a live show or standing up to Moriarty despite the fact that he’s trying his best to be better. He shifts restlessly. In his mind he sees Bruno telling him that standing up to Moriarty might be the only way to win you back. Just like he had earlier on he tries to ignore it. When he finally slips off to sleep underneath the soft light he dreams of your laughing face in front of him, your eyes sparkling with light as you gaze at him, whilst he spins you around and around Blackpool Tower in the clothes that both of you had worn that night. When the imaginary song that is in your heads comes to an end you both fall to the floor feeling silly and dizzy. 

 

“I love you,” you say as you half-turn to him with your head on his chest, your leg draped over his. 

 

When he wakes to the loneliness of the light he finds that he suddenly wishes that you’d managed to tell each other that. He sits up and leans forwards, flexing his hand in the air. The shadow of his long fingers-his mother had once said that he should have been a pianist-make a pattern against the wall. He feels suddenly homesick. He knows that Goldfish 123 isn't much of a friend, or a pet really, but he’d do anything to see him swimming around in that simple, circular bowl of his right now. The soothing, continuous movement of the fish in the water would soothe his mind and help reduce his slightly quickened heartbeat. He lies back down with a sigh and rolls towards the pillow that had been home to your head for part of last night. He shifts closer to it. He can smell the fiery tang of you against it and he breathes you in, curling a hand around one of the pillow’s corners, so that he can lift even more of it to his nose. He inhales his fill and settles down. In the end he finds himself hugging the pillow in his arms. Slowly his heart takes on a normal pace and his eyelids droop. He falls into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: Kitty deals her hand.


	7. Daddy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things come to a head with the press as your past comes into the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning that this chapter contains a scene of domestic violence.

“Midnight!” you coo as the cat comes running excitedly towards you with his tail in the air when you get home. You let go of the handle of the suitcase, which you’ve been pulling behind you, scoop him up in your arms and stroke and kiss at his head. He purrs contentedly and his tail swishes, catching against your leg. 

 

“Now that cat comes out,” Lysandra says as she walks out of the kitchen towards you, carrying tea in her hand in a pink mug, “He wouldn't have anything to do with me at all. You’d think that with all the other times I’ve cat-sat he would have warmed to me, but no. He just hid underneath the settee or bed and hissed. He even waited until I left before going to eat.”

 

“He’s a one woman cat,” you say happily, tickling Midnight underneath his chin. He lets out a purr that sounds like a steam train. You look at Lysandra more closely. “Is everything all right?” you ask her. “I wasn’t expecting you to be here when I got home.” You feel suddenly as if you’d rather that she wasn’t there, so that you could just be alone and not have to put on a front. The last few days have been draining to say the least, but that part in particular of the last few days has taken its toll. 

 

“Well, I wanted to make sure that you found Midnight to be in an acceptable condition”-

 

“You’re in more than an acceptable condition, aren't you Midnight?” you say in a babyish tone, hugging your cat all the more tightly to you. 

 

 _“And,”_ Lysandra goes on, smiling a little at the interaction between Midnight and you, “Of course you always give me the yummiest things when I cat-sit so…” 

 

You grin more genuinely than you have all weekend, drop Midnight to the floor and steer your case behind you to the living room. Lysandra and Midnight follow you curiously. “One of them is in here,” you point to your case once you’ve got it sitting upright on the floor, “The other is upstairs. I had it made before I went.”

 

“Ooh, exciting,” Lysandra says, setting her tea down on the coffee table. 

 

You smile a little, turn to your case and unzip the pocket that’s at the front. Midnight gives a large meow and steps in between your legs. “Silly cat,” you chide fondly, whipping the fudge that you’d gotten Lysandra out. Its got four pictures of Blackpool on the front of it and as you turn to hand it to her you feel sad when a photo of Central Pier catches your eye. You remember riding the Ferris wheel there and all that had come after…

 

“Is everything all right?” Lysandra asks you now, her eyes on you carefully. 

 

“Yep,” you nod, putting on a brighter face, “Do you like it?” you ask her. 

 

“I love it,” she smiles, “They look scrumptious. Thanks.” But her eyes still look concerned for you. 

 

“I’ll just go and get the other thing,” you gesture with your thumb behind you, before you stumble as you move quickly and trip over Midnight.

 

“F/N are you all right?” Lysandra asks, grabbing at your arm to steady you. 

 

“Uh yeah, silly cat,” you nudge Midnight aside with your leg and he looks at you darkly. You run a hand through your hair as Lysandra lets go of you, force a bright smile at her and hurry upstairs. 

 

When you get to your bedroom you shut the door clumsily behind you and just bend down with your hands clutching at your knees. You let out one breath and then another. Tears threaten to leak out of your eyes but you hold them back. Mycroft’s face flashes in your mind. You bite down hard on your lip and force yourself upward. You will not cry. Not with Lysandra in the house. You head across to your wardrobe, pull out the white top, which has the words, _‘I cat-sat and all I got was this lousy t-shirt’_ in black letters on it and take it downstairs. Midnight weaves in between your legs when you re-enter the living room. The only thing that has kept him with Lysandra is your interesting smelling suitcase. “Here,” you thrust the t-shirt at her. 

 

She holds it up and smiles at once when she reads it. “It’s amazing,” she grins. 

 

“Yeah,” you shift about, hoping that she won’t notice how the look on your face isn't exactly a happy one. You might not be crying, but you can’t just fake it any more. You’re too tired to. “Can I get you anything? Another cuppa or”-

 

“Another cuppa would be great,” she says, handing you her cup. 

 

You take it from her and head off to the kitchen, trying to keep busy, trying not to think-

 

“F/N?” Lysandra says, and it’s only then you realize that Midnight and she have followed you.

 

“Yes?” you half-turn back to her, whilst you get the tea things ready by the counter. 

 

She grabs at your arm and your focus goes to her properly. “I need to tell you something.” Your heart lurches and you feel like you’re back on the viewing platform, only this time Mycroft and Bruno aren't there to assist you and stop you from falling. Mycroft’s not there telling you you’re not worth it. You think that last part is probably for the best. Lysandra squeezes at you, before she lets go of you again. 

 

“It’s not anything to do with Midnight is it?” you ask, looking down. Your cat lets out a meow and nudges at your leg, wanting more food though you’ve already seen that his bowl is full. You shoo him away and he gives you a repugnant look. 

 

“No, no it’s”- Lysandra breaks off and looks away from you for a moment, raking her hand through her hair. As you stare at her you feel like you’re barely breathing. “I got a phone call,” she confesses, looking at you steadily, “Saturday afternoon. From a journalist called Kitty Riley.” You release a little breath. “She was asking me about your relationship with Mycroft. I said that there was nothing to say because your relationship with him is purely professional.”

 

“How did she respond to that?” 

 

“Well, she didn't seem very happy,” Lysandra says, “I'm aware of the speculative articles she’s put out previously of course…but,” she goes on a little more cautiously, “I couldn't help but notice that you seemed a little subdued on the show last night and that you seemed to be talking to Mycroft less. Did something happen between you? You seemed pretty upbeat, before you left for Blackpool and like overall you were looking forward to it.”

 

“Nothing happened,” you turn away from her, facing the counter. You pop the teabags into the cups and pour the boiling water over. You spend the couple of minutes that you need to let them brew in silence. You finish making them and pop the milk back in the fridge. It’s only then that you realize that Lysandra’s already gone. 

 

 _‘I'm always here,’_ she’s written on a yellow post-it note that’s now attached to the counter. 

 

You let out a breath. You’re going to have to get out of this daze and pull yourself together you think. 

 

*

 

When Mycroft arrives back at his penthouse it’s to find that Goldfish 123 is floating at the top of his bowl, dead. The purifying filter that Mycroft had put in and which should have lasted the duration of his trip has broken and the bowl is covered in grime and algae. Feeling a sense of loss that he hadn’t expected to he looks down at his poor fish, before he scoops him up with his hands. Goldfish 123 lies there completely still with some of the water and algae that Mycroft had brought out without being able to help it. With a foolish faint hope that refuses to die inside him, Mycroft takes the fish across to the sink and runs the cold tap water over him. It does not revive the fish and Mycroft feels suddenly frustrated and angry by it all. The fish hadn’t been much but he’d been counting on him. Counting on him to stay alive and to be a companion that he could express his woe to. He’s been the one constant in Mycroft’s life after all ever since he’d met you and one of the longest surviving fish that he’s had. He switches the tap off. “God damn you,” he lowers the fish to the bottom of the sink. Then, for the first time in years, Mycroft Holmes begins to cry. 

 

*

 

 _‘The Secret Tryst That’s Curing Our Heartache,’_ reads Kitty Riley’s so called exclusive with you that Monday. There’s a photo to accompany the two page spread of you, which shows you in the Blackpool hotel corridor in your white nightgown as you come out of Mycroft’s room and clutch your clothes to your chest. _‘An unexpected interview ended up coming my way dear reader as I took to Blackpool to keep an eye on this year’s, ‘Strictly Come Dancing,’ competition,’_ Kitty writes, _‘I was off-duty and enjoying my time when I came across two of our favourite judges, Mycroft Holmes and F/N L/N, coming out of the Tourist Information Centre. The pair of them seemed to be enjoying a joke together and were very nearly holding hands. If I hadn’t been so intrigued I would have felt sorry for interrupting them. I asked if there was anything that they’d like to tell me with a knowing eye, but they declined. I left my number with them, not expecting either of them to use it. But that night, and hours before Saturday’s show, I, heading back to my hotel room, came across none other than F/N L/N dressed as in the picture you see before me, coming out of what I later discovered was Mycroft’s room. As soon as F/N saw me she wanted to talk. I took her to my hotel room and when she was dressed and had a cup of tea in front of her she told me everything._

_“Mycroft and I have been seeing each other for weeks,” so she began. “We wanted to keep it secret. We’re both very private people, but its gotten on top of me too much now. I think it’s time to tell people.” F/N looks down for a moment, before she continues, “Mycroft and I have been helping each other.” Here she smiles. “Mycroft’s always been a worrier and he finds it difficult to accept that his brother can really be content as a camera operator because he’s so ambitious himself. I’ve been helping him with that and he”- here F/N breaks off. She gives a great sniff. I pass her a handkerchief and she smiles. I tell her to take as long as she needs. Finally she continues in a small voice, “My mother and father split up when I was four. There were arguments, lots of arguments and then one day he suddenly wasn’t there any more. The house was silent. Our hearts were empty. I haven’t seen him since.”_

_“You haven’t seen your father since you were four?” I ask her incredulously, finding it hard to digest how difficult that must have been for her. She shakes her head and gives me a forced smile. “Mycroft’s been helping you with that?” I prompt her. She nods. “How?” I ask._

_She thinks and genuinely begins to look happy. “Just by listening.” She gives a bit of a shrug, but I can tell how important this is to her. “I don’t have many people I feel close to, but Mycroft’s definitely become one of those people. We don’t have much time together because we’re very busy and have jobs outside the show, but when we’re together a lot of the time we’ll stay up late. We don’t even have to talk. We just have this understanding.”_

_F/N continues to gush about Mycroft like this for some time. She confesses that the two have become physically as well as emotionally intimate with one another and it’s clear that the pair have grown extraordinarily close in the time that they've known each other. But there’s one question that’s been lingering in the back of my mind for the duration of this interview and I put it to her now. “You said when we first met on the red carpet launch of this show all that time ago when I asked you about the ‘Strictly curse,’ that quite often these relationships are short-lived. Do you think that Mycroft and you will be able to break that and go on to have a long relationship with one another?”_

_She looks at me for a moment. “I hope so,” she smiles.'_

 

*

 

 _I never did that interview, but I suppose everyone will believe it due to the hard work that Moriarty and you have been putting in behind the scenes,_ you can’t help but text Mycroft bitterly. 

 

Mycroft sighs when he reads it. He knows that, that’s just you feeling angry about the article. Knows too that he probably deserves to feel such a thing radiating from you when he feels angry about it himself. But he tries to act logically when he sends: **You could always sue.**

 

 _I know my options,_ is all that you put in return. 

 

Mycroft holds off from sending anything back until he reads the statement that you put out through Lysandra that afternoon: _‘For the record I want to say that I never gave the interview to Kitty Riley that has been published in ‘The Sun’ this morning. I never said any of those things and whilst the information she published about my family situation is true-my parents did divorce when I was four-I have never mentioned that to her and I never gave her permission to publish that. Everything else is false and I fully intend to sue both Kitty Riley and ‘The Sun,’ for slander. In the mean time I have asked for the article to be removed online and hope that wish will be granted. I have no further comment to make about the matter at this stage.’_

 

**If I wanted to sue Riley and ‘The Sun,’ myself would you find that agreeable?**

 

 _Yes,_ you send back grimly. 

 

Mycroft has just seen it and smiled down at it when he gets a phone call. “Hello?” he says. 

 

“Oh Mykie is it true?” comes the overbearing and familiar voice of his mother. Mycroft sighs inwardly. “Are F/N and you-?”

 

“There is no truth in it whatsoever Mummy,” he interrupts, “I am as single as I have ever been.” His heart aches from the fact. 

 

His mother lets out a disappointed noise. _“But”-_

 

“I'm sorry if that saddens you Mummy, but Riley has fabricated the whole thing. I’ve heard that F/N intends to sue her and I’m considering doing so myself. In any case is sneaking around hotel rooms in the middle of the night really what you want for your son? Surely you know that I am too old for that?”

 

“Mykie you know what I meant,” Violet’s bossy voice comes down the phone, “I want you to be happy and reading that article even though I was angry not to have heard anything about it from you I’d hoped that you’d finally found a place to put your love”-

 

“My love is fine where it is,” Mycroft tells her shortly. 

 

“Mykie. Really don’t be difficult. Nothing has happened between F/N and you then?”

 

“No. It is all in people’s imaginations.”

 

“Then it must be in mine too,” Violet says in a low tone. 

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“I'm not stupid Mycroft. You might think that I’m your daft, old mother who is a constant embarrassment to you, but I saw the change in you over the weekend as clearly as anyone else.” Mycroft’s stomach swirls. “Over the weekend I saw the way that F/N and you barely talked to each other and I saw the looks you kept giving her and the way that you constantly tried to get her attention. Now are you going to keep denying that something’s taken place between you or am I going to have to strangle you to get it out of you when I see you on Saturday?”-

 

 _“Saturday?”_ Mycroft asks in confusion, his mind flicking forwards through the calendar days. “I'm working on Saturday.” 

 

Violet lets out a great big sigh at that. “Oh Mykie,” she complains, “Don’t tell me that you’ve forgotten about your father and I coming to watch the show on Saturday? That was agreed weeks ago.”

 

“Christ, is it that time already?” Mycroft mutters, remembering how the first year he’d been on the show his parents had come to the final. Last year they’d come to Blackpool and Mycroft remembers what a palaver that had been. It should be easier on a normal show, but still…he could really do without them this Saturday. He’d been vaguely hoping to try and restore things with you again. 

 

“What was that?” she asks him sharply. 

 

“Nothing,” Mycroft says hurriedly, “Just me saying how much I can’t wait to see you both Mummy.”

 

“Indeed,” Violet says and she sounds amused now. “If you expect me to believe that Mycroft Holmes then you’re not as clever as I thought.” Mycroft winces. “Now,” she says in a louder tone, “Are you going to tell me what’s been occurring between F/N and you?”

 

“She”- Mycroft hesitates. 

 

“Yes?” 

 

“There was a moment between us, but I'm rather afraid that it’s gone now and it’s my fault.” 

 

“What did you do or say?” Violet braces herself. 

 

Again Mycroft hesitates, before in the end he says, “It’s nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

 

“Yet you sound as if it does?”

 

Mycroft lets out a sigh at that and shifts a little. “It’s for the best.” He feels grateful when Violet lets him come off the phone a moment later for he does not believe his own words.

 

*

 

Your phone goes just as you’re closing the front door of the house behind you as you come inside. “Yes?” you answer, striding into the kitchen, dumping your soaked folded umbrella down onto the table and beginning to tug off your f/c coat one handedly. 

 

It’s Lysandra and she wastes no time in getting to her point. “Riley’s been on the phone”-you groan-“She said that you can sue her all you like, but stated that the photo was real and asked how you were going to explain it? I said that if she wants to contact you from now on then she’d have to go through your solicitor.” You mentally high-five Lysandra as you throw your coat over the back of one of the chairs. _“But,”_ Lysandra goes on more tentatively and your heart sinks now, “The point is F/N that she’s right. The whole idea of suing for slander is that you’re stating that someone has misrepresented you in a way that’s wholly wrong. You need a lot of proof for it and you could get into a lot of trouble if it doesn’t work out. It’s a very serious allegation to make and if that photo’s true then it puts a suggestion out there, which diminishes your case. Now, I'm not saying that you should tell me what’s been going on with Mycroft and you, because believe me I know that something has, though I do feel that you should share the broader details with me if you want me to be able to advise you fully and help you out here as much as I can.”

 

Your heart sinks even further at that. Midnight pads into the room and leaps up onto the table. He sniffs at your umbrella, before he turns away from it. You stroke absent-mindedly at his fur and take a deep breath. “There has been something going on between Mycroft and I,” you confess. 

 

“Good. We’re getting somewhere. Now tell me, were you in his hotel room that night?”

 

“Yes.” Lysandra sighs. “But not in the way that you think”-you struggle for a moment and run a hand through your damp hair-“Mycroft and I split up that night,” you say in a low, awkward tone.

 

“Okay, and I'm sorry about that,” Lysandra treads cautiously, “But playing devil’s advocate here the fact that Riley’s not exactly been lying about everything in her article is not going to help you.” 

 

“So what?” you ask her. “You think that I shouldn't sue and just let her get away with it?”

 

“I don’t know.” You let out a sigh now. “I just think that you need to be very careful. You said it yourself that what she said about your family was true”-

 

“She just overheard that. She had no right to publish it”-

 

“Still, it’s her job to be a nosy cow.” 

 

“But,” you run a hand through your hair, “The point is that she’s telling people that I’ve voluntarily told her all this and said that I'm fine with it being thrust out into the world. I'm not. One of the reasons that I believe Mycroft and I split up was because all the outside pressure people were putting us under didn't allow room for our relationship to grow. If it wasn’t for people like Riley then we might have had a chance.” You sound almost choked by the time that you finish. 

 

“Look F/N I know that this isn't exactly easy for you and you know that I'm going to be here for you as a friend, but being professional now if Mycroft and you are over and you’re going to stay that way then you might be able to get away with saying that you’ve never ever been in a relationship with him, but”-

 

“Other people know who could back Kitty up,” you interrupt. 

 

“Urgh,” Lysandra sounds grumpy, “How many?” 

 

“Er,” you do a quick think; “There’s Bruno Tonioli, Len Goodman, Sally Donovan from make-up, Mycroft’s brother Sherlock, John Watson the cameraman and Moriarty the Executive Producer. I think that’s it.”

 

“Jesus F/N. You two haven’t exactly been acting undercover have you?” 

 

“Um no,” you utter a little guiltily, wishing that you could explain everything to her about Moriarty, but not feeling as if you can now. That would make her understand things a lot more, but it would also be a very long conversation and you get the feeling that it wouldn't help your cause. 

 

“All right, bribe all of them to keep their mouths shut. Tell them that it’s for an easier life or just buy a load of fudge like you bought me to prevent them from speaking.” She takes a bit of a deep breath. “Um, okay, going back to what I was going to ask before. How _would_ you explain the photo if anyone asked?” 

 

“Er,” you think about it for a moment, “I guess I could say it was photo-shopped”-

 

“F/N, Riley would probably be expecting that. She’d probably employ people who could prove that it wasn’t”-

 

“All right, all right,” you protest. “Erm then, well, no one knows that, that was me for definite coming out of Mycroft’s room. I mean they know it was me, but they don’t know it was Mycroft’s room. You and I know it, but no one else does, and the photo doesn’t show a room number or anything. All you can see is me standing in a dimly lit corridor carrying a bunch of clothes”-

 

“In your nightgown, which was stupid of you.” 

 

“I know it was stupid,” you counter, “But I’d had a row with Mycroft and I wanted to get out of there. My room wasn’t that far away. Anyway, the point that I'm trying to make is that, that could have been any guy’s room”-

 

“But it wasn’t and I don’t think that you want to be going around giving people the idea that you’re a slut either”-

 

“Look, Kitty’s a bitch and she’s trying to trap me here, but I'm not going to let her win.”

 

“I'm not saying that you should let her win,” Lysandra says, as equally fervent as you’d been, “But I don’t want you to be painted in a bad light just so that you can fight her. Get the article removed if you can, but it sounds to me like there’s a lot of truth in it and you might not even win.” Lysandra takes a deep breath. “Promise me that you’ll just consider what’s more important here, before you do anything?” she says. 

 

You let out a bit of a breath. “Okay.”

 

“Good,” Lysandra says, sounding relieved, “Now one more question.” You brace yourself. “Is Mycroft good in bed?”

 

 _“Lysandra!”_ you splutter, letting out a bit of a freeing laugh. Your cheeks heat up. But when you can feel Lysandra’s breath, heavy with anticipation at the other end, you say, “Um yeah, yes.”

 

Lysandra clicks off in a satisfied fashion a moment later. 

 

Shaking your head still at her question you put your phone down on the table, give Midnight one of his pouches of cat food, go and get changed and make dinner for yourself. 

 

As you sit in the living room and tuck into your bowl of Ramen noodles you re-read Kitty’s article a couple of times and think about what Lysandra had told you as you do so. It’s true you think, there is definitely more truth in Kitty’s article than lies and put that fact up with the one that if you sued you’d be going against not just Kitty, but Moriarty and Magnussen too who would probably use all their force against you and you really don’t have much of a chance. Feeling annoyed you text Mycroft: _Have you made any move forward to sue Kitty yet?_

 

 **I’ve got a meeting with my solicitor tomorrow afternoon. Why? Changing your mind? I’ll cancel if you are.**

 

You take a moment to think. _I might be,_ you send. 

 

**Any particular reason?**

 

You don’t respond at first. Finally you send: _I just think there’s more truth than lies there._

 

Mycroft feels that ache again and does not reply. He can sense what you’re not saying, that you don’t think that you’d win. 

 

You let out a bit of a sigh after a few minutes of not receiving anything and put your phone aside. You read the article again, before you put it aside too. You finish off your cold noodles-they slide down your throat unpleasantly like worms around a coffin-wash up and return to the living room. That’s when you think that you better do what you’ve been putting off all day and phone your mother even though you just want to take a bath, make a hot water bottle and get an early night. You call her. 

 

“F/N”-

 

“Hey Mum I was just going to say that it’s probably too late now but if you haven’t already then don’t look at today’s _‘Sun.’”_

 

“I’ve already seen it”-

 

“Ah,” you run a hand through your hair, “I probably should have phoned you earlier shouldn't I?”

 

“Yes you should have,” your mother says and she sounds unusually stern now, “I was just thinking that I was going to have to be the one to phone you.”

 

“Yes, sorry about that,” you say awkwardly, “I’ve been trying to get _‘The Sun’_ online to pull that article down and before that I had that statement to get out. Anyway, I just wanted to say that I'm really sorry Mum”-

 

“Why are you apologizing?”

 

“Because of what the article said about Father and you. I know it can’t have been pleasant for you to read that and remember that time. It wasn’t pleasant for me actually”-

 

“Oh sweetheart, that was years ago, and yes it’s a little odd to see it all splashed in the paper, but I feel more upset about what you said about remembering us argue than I did about anything else. It’s you that I want to focus on now. Your successes and you. I'm not going to let myself get upset about the past any more. I just want to make sure that you’re okay, that you’re happy and that you know that you can talk to me about all this. I don’t want you to let the past stain this time for you now. But if you are struggling with all of it then I don’t want you to keep anything about it bottled up, not even if it’s to protect me. I am of course glad that you’ve got Mycroft now”-

 

“I haven’t”-

 

_“What?”_

 

“I”- you swallow. “It’s”- you hesitate again. You've spent all day feeling angry and cross about the article and what it was portraying. But now, after Lysandra’s words and the fact that you’re on the phone to the person that you’re closest to in the whole world it hits you suddenly that you can’t paint it as lies any more and that you can’t sue either _‘The Sun,’_ _or_ Kitty. 

 

“F/N?”

 

“I never did that interview Mum,” you say in a bit of a shaky voice, “But the truth is that Kitty’s got the gist of things right. Mycroft and I did have a bit of a conversation about my feelings for Dad and we were together,” you confess, “Not much, but we split up in Blackpool.”

 

“Oh honey,” your mother coos. 

 

“Yeah,” you say in a broken voice and then suddenly most of it’s coming out. You don’t speak about Moriarty and the backstage drama, but you tell her about how Mycroft hadn’t been with you because he’d felt the same, making out like he’d done it in the hopes that it would boost his career, which isn't exactly a lie and you tell her about how he’d said you weren’t of value. You know that he’d probably said that in the heat of the moment and you feel angrier about the whole trust issue than that, but it’s one of the only things that you can tell your mum. Your mother is angry on your behalf and you’re in tears by the time that you finish. 

 

*

 

 _‘F/N L/N in Sue U-Turn,’_ reads one of the headlines in the papers the following day. Kitty Riley’s reaction to it the next day? _‘Well, that says it all really doesn’t it? Perhaps F/N decided that there was more truth and less fabrication to the article than she’d previously thought?’_

 

You scowl when you see that and hate Kitty for it even more in spite of the fact that it’s the truth. You want nothing more to do with the woman and her spiteful ways. 

 

*

 

“I’ve been in touch with the BBC,” is the first thing that your mother says to you when you speak with her that Wednesday.

 

 _“What?”_

 

“It’s all right. There’s no need to panic F/N. I know you’d fixed it up, so that I could attend the quarter-final, but I spoke to them and we both agreed that it would be wise if I could use my seat this weekend instead. A couple of people weren’t able to go any more so they were able to slot me in.”

 

“Mum”-

 

“Sometimes judges need support just as much as contestants do,” your mother says persistently. 

 

“Thanks Mum,” you say with a grudging acceptance.

 

*

 

Mycroft goes to the pet shop that Thursday to finally replace Goldfish 123. He hadn’t felt like doing it. It had felt too soon, but coming home every night to an empty penthouse had just made him feel even gloomier about things. Unable to hesitate any more he’d caved and gone to purchase his new fish. 

 

Once he gets home and puts the fish in its new home-the circular container has been spruced up-he gazes at it admiringly. It’s a female and he’d fully been intending to call her, ‘Goldfish 124,’ but as he watches the delicacy of her golden, white and brown flecked colour shimmering in the water like the fan of flames as her elongated fin trails behind her it seems inexcusable to call her anything else but, “F/N.”

 

The fish dives upward and he decides that she likes her new name. He frowns at the Houses of Parliament figurine behind her. That had seemed appropriate for Goldfish 123, but it seems vastly out of place now. 

 

He goes to buy a disco ball figurine the next day and puts it in the bowl instead. F/N the fish swims around it quite happily. Mycroft smiles, feeling encouraged. 

 

*

 

That Friday, as if Kitty hasn’t already done enough damage she’s got another exclusive. This time with your father whose come forward. There’s a picture of him on the double page spread standing as bold as brass, a little plumper and greyer than you remember him with his hair cropped close to his head, his jaw line full of stubble and his e/c eyes looking at you hopefully as he stands there in a dark brown shirt, brown belt and jeans. _‘To My Daughter…’_ the headline reads, and after the introduction by Kitty there’s a message for you. _‘I am so proud of you and everything that you have become. I know that we have not spoken to one another for years, but not a day has gone by where I have not thought of you.’_ You scoff inwardly when you read that. “Yeah right, as if I'm going to believe that,” you say. “About as truthful as Mycroft’s behaviour all this time.” You’d had a text from Lysandra this morning warning you about this hideous article, and, feeling grateful that you had no work that day and no where that you needed to be, you’d hurriedly gone out to buy it bracing the wet weather. Now Midnight jumps up beside where you’re sat on the settee and peers down at the article with you in a scrutinizing fashion. You rub behind his ears in an attempt to cool down, before you read on, _‘I know that you have probably felt hurt over the years, not having a father.’_ “Understatement.” _‘But what you have to understand sweetheart is’-_ your father goes on as if he’d sensed such a reaction from you and you frown- _‘That sometimes people, with the best intention in the world, can’t live together. Your mum and I were two of those people. When I left your mother did not want me to have contact with you’-_ you let out a curse at that. You know that’s not true, at least you don’t think that it is. _‘Stupidly, at the time I thought it was what was best. A daughter needs her mother more than her father. This is what I believed. But I thought about you all the time sweetheart you have to believe me, what you looked like, what you were good at, at school, whether you could ride a bike, what you liked doing, I thought about you learning to drive at seventeen, wondered if you went to university…I thought about you all the time. When I read about how you’d joined ‘Strictly Come Dancing,’ and all of your film work I couldn't have been any prouder of you. I have watched and recorded every episode. I re-watch them regularly and am constantly amazed at how grown up and beautiful my daughter has become. I felt convinced that you’d done better than you would have with me. But when I read Kitty Riley’s article on Monday I realized that I was wrong then and I’d been wrong before. A daughter needs her father. I wanted to reach out to you. So this is me doing that now and telling you sweetie that if you read this, then please get in touch with Kitty Riley and she’ll put us in touch and we can talk properly about it all because I want to be in your life again, I want to help you and I want to heal all the pain that I’ve caused you. I want to tell you about my new family’-_ you let out a watery breath at that- _‘I’ve got a beautiful wife whose got two grown up daughters of her own from a previous marriage. They’re in their twenties, a little younger than you, but they love the show and would love to meet you.’_ Again you let out a little mocking noise. You are not going to meet up with your father just so that members of his new family can get your autograph and pretend that they have this amazing connection with you. _‘I want us to all be a proper family again.’_ “Except we wouldn't be a proper family would we Dad? Because you _left_ your proper family.” _‘F/N I love you. Your Daddy.’_ Underneath those final words is your father’s signature. Your stomach writhes when you notice that he writes some of the letters the same way as you do. You close the paper, flip it in half and toss it to the floor. Midnight leaps off the settee and goes to inspect it. “What do you think?” you ask him. “Should I put it out with the rubbish?” _Or give him another chance?_ Your mind adds silently. But there’s so much hurt swirling inside you. Hurt from watching your parents yelling, hurt from your father nearly losing his temper and getting cross and you’re not sure if you can just forgive him for all of that. Bubbles of fiery rage fill up your insides the more that you think about it all and not only that but the timing of his re-appearance in your life. All those birthdays and Christmases he’d missed, all those things he’d apparently thought that you might be doing. Well he could have gotten those answers and spent time with you a lot sooner if he’d just contacted you. Even if what he’d said about your mother denying him access had been true then how hard had he actually fought for such a thing? You can’t help but think that it’s a little strange at least that he’s chosen to get in touch with you now and suddenly been convinced that you need him when you’re successful and mildly famous. Would he have ever made the realization if you weren’t? If you were just a completely normal woman? You doubt it. Feeling annoyed with it all you go across, lift the paper up and away from Midnight’s prying paws-he’s already ripped some of it up with his claws-and walk back to the kitchen where you toss the paper in the bin.

 

*

 

Mycroft’s hand is nearly bone white as it clenches around a copy of _‘The Sun.’_ He strides through the main BBC building wearing a dark suit and open necked white shirt. His stomach swirls with rage and guilt. He rounds the corner, takes the last few steps and slams the door open. It bangs against the wall and Moriarty looks up from where he’d been conversing with Sebastian, whilst the latter gets to his feet. 

 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Sebastian asks. “You can’t just come in here like that. Get out.”

 

Moriarty though waves a hand. Something distasteful swirls about his face but he looks far more relaxed. “I’ve been expecting you,” he says to Mycroft, whilst the latter’s chest heaves. “Please, take a seat.” 

 

Sebastian sits down slowly. 

 

Mycroft looks between them both and then his eyes flicker towards the chair. Now more than ever he does not want to listen to Moriarty. But still there’s something inside him, a tug of sorts that’s telling him to do so. In the end he does a compromise of sorts by going over to the desk, throwing the paper down upon it and letting out a huff. “You've gone too far this time.” He sits down. 

 

“Really?” Moriarty raises his eyebrows. “I feel like I haven’t gone far enough actually, like I’ve only been doing what you deserve.” 

 

He stands up. A muscle twitches in Mycroft’s jaw and he shifts his position, before he says, “F/N was right. I should have stood up to you before”-

 

“God you really are in love with her!” Moriarty says, sounding disgusted with him. 

 

“There is a line of morality and by getting in touch with the father who you must have known has caused F/N so much misery and suffering you have jumped across it.”

 

“A line of morality?” Moriarty creeps closer to Mycroft by coming around the desk. “Then perhaps you too have crossed it? Did you not let her down in Blackpool when you should have known how important it was to keep her on side?” Moriarty’s hand, far colder than Mycroft’s heart clasps at his shoulder. “If you are feeling let down by me then it is only because you let me down first. We had an agreement. You give me all the gory details about your relationship with F/N or I dismiss you and leave Sherlock and her in a place where you can’t help them.” He squeezes at Mycroft’s shoulder. “You let me down.” 

 

Mycroft chews on his lip. “I”-

 

Moriarty’s hand slides quickly over his mouth. Mycroft struggles, but desists as soon as his boss moves the hand that is not covering his mouth to slide to the shoulder of Mycroft’s that is furthest away from him. He gives it a hard squeeze. “Now listen to me,” he says with his breath hot against Mycroft’s ear, “You are going to carry on giving the public what they want whether that little harlot wants it or not. Everyone thinks you are together now and you are going to play up that angle. I will not have her or you ruining the show just because you’ve got a little weakness for her.” Mycroft moves again, struggling for breath. “Is that clear?” Moriarty lets go of him. Mycroft nods. “Good. Get out.” Mycroft heaves himself clumsily out of the seat and flees. He feels like a failure. He is just as pathetic as you’d made him out to be and the more he thinks about it the more he doesn’t want to be that way any more. But how can he possibly get out of the habit he’s come so accustomed to and stop fulfilling Moriarty’s wishes and protect both Sherlock and you when Moriarty’s proved even more just how dangerous he is? 

 

* 

 

“You can talk to him if you want you know?” your mother says on the phone that night. Once more you’d avoided calling her and this time she’d rung you. Now you fidget a little uncomfortably as you sit on the settee and talk to her. “If that’s what you really want then I won’t stop you.” 

 

“Mum I don’t want to talk to him,” you mutter, “He probably just wants to have a good relationship with me now, so that I’ll leave him money if I die before him.” You think about it for a moment and as you do you find that there _is_ something that you’d like to know. “I just”-you rake a hand through your hair-“It’s not true is it?” you ask her uncertainly. “What he said about you stopping him from seeing me?”

 

“Please don’t think badly of me,” your mother says, letting out a bit of a sigh. 

 

“Mum I could never”-

 

“I got a restraining order on him,” she says in barely more than a whisper, “After what happened. You were too young at the time and I was hardly just going to blurt out the fact over dinner. It was easier to make you believe that he just wasn’t interested in you, but I did it to protect you, so that he wouldn't ever be able to hurt you like the way he hurt me. But you’re an adult now”-

 

“Mum,” you utter, your vision starting to go hazy. You can’t even see the TV that’s muted, but on the news in front of you. All you can see is a load of dark shapes that shift. “What are you on about? What do you mean, ‘hurt me like the way he hurt you?’”

 

“F/N you do remember that night don’t you? The night that he left? I don’t want to bring it up again, but”-

 

“I”- is all you get out, before you see the events that you’ve kept so locked up in your mind that even though all the fires of your secret rage and torment have been surrounding the case they’re in all these years you’ve never been able to touch, never been able to release them fully until now. You see the vision of the happy family coming back from the fair one November night, you playing with the pink balloon your clever Daddy had won you, your mother lighting the fire inside of the sitting room and everyone settling down around it. Your father had, had a couple of drinks at the fair. You’d seen him with one as you’d ridden the carousel with your mother. She’d frowned, but you’d just waved and called out, _‘Look at me Daddy! Look at me! No hands!’_ Your dad had smiled at that briefly. His plastic cup of beer had nudged at his nose, before he’d let the drink warm his insides as he’d taken in another mouthful of it. You hadn’t known that the alcohol had been stoking your father’s temper all night, making it even more prone to flare up and burn than usual. You sit down on the floor by your mother’s knees. She sits on the settee, whilst your father takes up his usual armchair on the other side. You’re too busy tapping at your balloon and making it lift towards the faded light bulb to think about what mood your father might be in. As far as you’re aware this is one of those rare, happy nights. 

 

“Perhaps you should stop playing with that now sweetie?” your mother says, for she _has_ noticed your father’s growing lack of patience and the way that his eye has twitched every time he’s heard the sound of your fingers against the balloon. 

 

But you want to play. “Higher, higher,” you coax the balloon, tapping at it again and half-standing up this time. You giggle a little when it reaches new heights. 

 

Your father’s head swings towards you. “Stop that F/N.” He turns up the volume on the TV, hoping that might desist you. You look at him cautiously. Your breath catches in your throat. But then your balloon drifts back down into your vision, just in the corner of your eye and you feel something determined flicker inside you. You turn your head back and tap at the balloon without being able to help it. “I said stop it!” your father snaps as he gets up at once. You flinch and withdraw back. As he stomps towards you and you see his gaze hone in on the balloon your mind worries and you try and rescue it. He grabs it though, before you can, popping it in between his hands and throwing the remnants of it, which look like an odd, massive piece of chewing gum into the fire. You wail. Tears come instantly to your eyes and you lunge forwards. “Stupid child!” Your father pushes you back, catching you around the middle. He sends you hurtling away until you hit the front of the settee’s armrest. Winded you crumple to the floor, draw your knees up to your chest and cry and sniffle still. Your mother stands up, but irritated by her too your father hits her down to the thin carpet. “Can’t you control your child?” he asks, but he must like the feel of how hard his hand had caused her to fall as he’d gone on to hit her again and again across her face, half-over her as she’d tried to fight him off, pushing at his broad chest with her hands. 

 

“Mummy! Mummy!” you cry, standing up and watching the scene out of horrified e/c eyes. 

 

In the present as you remember all this your phone slips out of your hand, crashes against the plate that you’d eaten two digestive biscuits off earlier and rested on the floor. The plate lets out a tinkling sound, but you hardly hear that and you don’t hear your mother calling your name anxiously. Half-sobbing and delirious you fall to the floor. The side of your leg catches against the edge of the plate and your fingers curl around it. Curious about your noise and a little concerned for you Midnight comes padding into the room, but he soon goes fleeing again when he sees you lifting up the plate. 

 

“No, no,” you say, rocking back and forth with one fist clenched and with the other making to swing the plate down and crash it against the floor.

 

Before you can a soft, worried voice says, “F/N, Christ,” and suddenly there’s a hand on your arm, on your bicep and Mycroft Holmes of all people is in front of you. 

 

Thinking that he’s part of your vision too and not realizing that you’ve come out of it you swing your head wildly and push against him. “No, no, I don’t want to see you too.”

 

“F/N, it’s all right, I'm not in your head. I'm here. I'm here,” Mycroft says. He’s not quite sure if that will help, but he has to make you come out of whatever it is that you’d just been in. He keeps his hand on your bicep, whilst his other one goes to your shoulder. He gives it a light, but firm squeeze. 

 

“No I don’t want to see you! I don’t want to see you! What are you doing here?” You make to wriggle back from him. Once more your hand gets close to throwing the plate down, but again Mycroft stops you. 

 

“It’s all right, I'm not going to hurt you. You’re safe, you’re not wherever you were just now,” Mycroft says, fighting against you to re-gain control.

 

“Safe? How can I be safe with you here?” you get out and Mycroft pales considerably. 

 

Trying to ignore such words though and convince himself that you’re not in your right mind, that you’re simply upset, Mycroft tries to focus on the issue of getting the danger away from you and not on his own feelings. “Here, let’s put this down shall we?” he says when you’re finally more still and breathless. He tentatively prises the plate away from you and carefully places it down upon the floor. 

 

You shake your head and look like you might be about to push him or even pick the plate up again and throw it at him, but a sound, which comes from your mobile phone distracts you both. Mycroft and you both look at it. “My mum,” you gurgle with a bit of a shrug, swiping at your eyes now. 

 

Mycroft swallows and underneath your wary gaze he picks the phone up and lifts it to his ear tentatively. “Hello?” he says. 

 

“Oh my goodness who’s this?” comes your mother’s worried voice. 

 

“It’s Mycroft Holmes. Am I speaking to F/N’s mother?” he asks. 

 

“Yes, but what are you doing there? Where’s my daughter?” she questions in agitation. 

 

“She’s right here in front of me and although she’s a little upset I'm sure she’d like to talk to you.” He hands the phone back to you and you take it off him gingerly. 

 

“Mum?” you sniff, wiping a hand across your nose. Mycroft shoves a handkerchief into your free hand and you use it gratefully. 

 

“Oh F/N thank goodness. What happened? Are you all right? Why’s Mycroft there?” she asks. 

 

“I'm fine Mum, I-I just got a little emotional about the article that’s all, but I'm fine,” you keep your eyes averted from Mycroft as you say all this, knowing that he’ll be able to see straight through you. “A-And,” you finally look up again, “As for your last question I don’t know why Mycroft’s here any more than you do.” You find yourself passing the phone back to him automatically. 

 

“I'm here to look after your daughter,” he says firmly to your mother, but loud enough so that you can hear, his eyes on you. Not knowing what to make of that you just swallow, duck your head, lean your back against the settee and look in between your knees. You can’t know that he’d felt so bad for letting things with Moriarty get so far, for hurting you so much and for not doing a better job at standing up to his boss earlier and that the more he’d let these feelings grow the more convinced he’d become that he just had to see you that night. Had to try and make it up with you and be there for you just like he knew you’d need someone to be there after the article. 

 

“Decided that she is worth something have you?” your mother asks him savagely. 

 

Mycroft winces and sensing his discomfort you look up at him curiously. It’s his turn to avoid _your_ eyes. “You can trust me with her. She’s safe.”

 

“That’s not what I asked Mr. Holmes, though I have reason to dispute your words.”

 

“Listen, I, um, the reception’s not so great here. I'm going to have to go.” He disconnects the call hurriedly and puts the phone down on the floor with a bit of a flush about his face. 

 

For a moment you just look at each other. The air between you is full of apprehension. “You don’t have to stay,” you say, “I know that you must be dying to report my breakdown to Moriarty.” Mycroft flinches. “I'm fine,” you tell him levelly. 

 

“I believe that probably as much as your mother does,” Mycroft says flatly and you let out a bit of an indignant huff as you look down again. “I had a feeling that you’d need me and you do. I'm not going anywhere.” 

 

“I’d rather you just went”-

 

“What was all that about just now?” You look at him. Does he really think that you’re going to tell him something so private after everything? You've already made a mistake in doing so once. You’re not going to be a fool again. Guessing your thoughts he tries to prompt you into speaking when he says, “You remembered something about your father didn't you? Something that you’ve been trying to hide”-

 

“Not that it’s any of your business, but he beat my mother up the night he left. She was in hospital for days. I had to stay with a neighbour, of course I’ve been trying to forget,” you tell him harshly. “Just go. Tell Moriarty if you want though it’s pretty clear that he already knows. Go.” 

 

The pair of you struggle to your feet. Mycroft’s hand goes to your arm, before it moves off again. “F/N I'm not going to tell Moriarty about the state you’re in right now. I think he overstepped the line today.”

 

“Just today?” you ask him sardonically. Mycroft looks chastised. He can barely look at you, but that makes you all the angrier. “You don’t have any clue do you? You still don’t get it. After my father did all that I vowed that I would never let anyone treat me like the way he’d treated my mother and then I locked it all up and tried to forget about it the best that I could”-

 

“You have trouble trusting because”-

 

“Of course,” you say vehemently, as if it should be obvious, “And being pushed to be with someone who I knew that I couldn't trust right from the very beginning was like being trapped in one of my worst nightmares.” Mycroft’s face ripples with pain. You turn away from him. “Anyway,” you heave out a breath, “It’s done now. Its happened. I’ve been an idiot and I'm not going to trust you again just so that you can abuse me.”

 

“F/N”-

 

“I'm sorry Mycroft, but you’re just going to have to find some other way of protecting your brother. Some way that doesn’t include me,” you say. 

 

Mycroft chews on his lip for a moment, hesitating. “It’s not just about Sherlock,” he reveals. 

 

“Don’t,” you whirl around. Your voice is strained and the tears sliding down your cheeks take Mycroft’s breath away. “Don’t do this now,” you point at him. 

 

“But I”- 

 

“Get out.” Mycroft just looks at you in a nonplussed fashion. “Get out!” You attempt to bat him away and he holds his hands up in supplication. 

 

“All right,” he says defeatedly, walking backwards out of the room and towards the front door. He feels even more put off when Midnight comes down the hallway and starts hissing at him. “I’ll go, but you need to know that I went to see Moriarty today.” Your lips part, before you keep on pushing him towards the door. “I tried to stand up to him. I did a terrible job of it, but I tried. I'm trying to do what you’ve always wanted me to”-

 

“It’s too late now.” You shake your head at him.

 

“What am I supposed to do if standing up to him isn't good enough for you?” Mycroft asks, standing on the doorstep and feeling both frustrated and confused. “I thought”-

 

“It’s like you said yourself,” you tell him, trying to keep your voice even, “You didn't stand up to him properly.” Mycroft opens his mouth. “I want you to be a man Mycroft. The man that I need,” and with that you close the door on his face, but all night his words and the memory of what your father had done swirl about your head. You wake from a nightmare once you finally go to bed, gasping about it all. 

 

*

 

“So, this is the corridor of the judges dressing rooms,” you point as you reach the head of it on the little tour you’re giving your mother around Elstree studios that following day, “I’ll take you to mine and then we can”- you break off when Mycroft and a short, grey-haired woman who you think must be his mother suddenly appear directly opposite you at the bottom of the corridor. Mycroft’s in a grey suit and open necked white shirt, whilst his mother is in a warm looking green and black top and dark trousers. They've left Edwin in the green room, which he’d seemed more than content to stay in with some of the female professional dancers. 

 

Mycroft and you just eye one another for a moment. Both of your mouths open uneasily as you remember how close your bodies had been, but how far your hearts had felt from one another last night. Your mothers though start to get a gleam about their eyes as they first fix on each other and then on the respective expressions of their children. 

 

“You know,” your mother says and you tear your gaze away from Mycroft to look at her, “I’ve been wanting to ask you all morning about what happened between Mycroft and you last night.”

 

“Nothing happened Mum,” you tell her, “He only stayed a couple of minutes more and then he left once I reminded him that it was too late for me to trust him now.” Your mother looks at you thoughtfully, taking in the fact that Mycroft seemed to have made an effort with you last night. 

 

At the end of the corridor Mycroft asks his mother, “Why don’t we go and get a snack hmm?” because he definitely doesn’t want the first conversation he has with you after last night to be one that’s conducted in front of your mothers. 

 

“Nonsense! Why would I want to get a snack at a time like this?” Violet barks, squeezing their linked arms even more tightly together as she looks up at her son. “I think I’d like to meet your colleague if you don’t mind.” She nods down the corridor at where you’re trying-with lots of gesticulating and waving of your hands-to make a feeble excuse to your own mother, so that you can get the hell out of there. 

 

“I'm not sure if that’s”-but before Mycroft can say anything more his mother is pulling him down the corridor-“Very well,” he adjusts his sentence, “If that is what you wish.” He clears his throat. 

 

“Mum I don’t care what you believe about last night! I don’t want to see him!” you hiss urgently.

 

“Well F/N,” your mother says, looking down the corridor, before she looks back at you, “They seem to want to see us.”

 

 _“What?”_ you mutter, almost grabbing at your mother’s arm as you turn your head right at the exact moment that Mycroft and Violet stop promptly in front of you. “Ah, _hi,”_ you say, extending the ‘hi,’ and forcing a cheery smile at them both that makes Mycroft raise his eyebrows at you. 

 

Violet takes in the fake smile that’s on your face with some amusement. “I'm Violet Holmes dear,” she says, looking from you to your mother and your mouth opens to respond. Before you can however Violet goes on and says to your mother, “Now, what do you say about us having a little chat? I'm sure these two”-she gestures at a very embarrassed and awkward looking Mycroft and you-“Have plenty to say to each other. Plenty of judging things.”

 

“Er yeah, I suppose we do,” you say, fidgeting a little with your hands and not wanting to make a scene despite the fact that you don’t want to talk to Mycroft right now. 

 

“I’d say that’s a splendid idea,” your mother replies. 

 

“I'm glad that you think so,” Violet nods, stepping forwards and linking her arm with your mother’s as they make to move away again. 

 

“Mum you have to stay with me,” you hiss, “You can’t just go wandering off. You won’t be able to get through the doors.” 

 

Neither of the mothers look back at you, but you figure that they've got your message when they stop just a couple of steps away. They let go of each other and begin to talk animatedly with one another. You narrow your eyes at them, before you turn back to Mycroft. 

 

He smiles down at you a little uneasily. “Perhaps we could just move a little”- he grabs at the sleeve of the plum top you’re wearing, barely touching it, and walks backwards, pulling you a couple of steps away, so that you can converse a little more privately with you. He lets go of you at once when you both come to a stop and you stow your hands in your pockets of your jeans. “I didn't realize that your mother would be joining us today,” he says. 

 

“Yeah,” you reply, taking your hands out of your pockets and flicking your hair away apologetically as you look up at him properly at last. “She er-she was meant to come to the quarter-finals, but after everything this week she wanted to come tonight instead.”

 

“Most understandable,” Mycroft nods. “I take it you’re feeling better now after last night?” He peers down at you. “Perhaps you’ve had a chance to think more about what I said?” He looks hopeful. 

 

His words put you off automatically though and you gesture a hand at both of your mothers in an attempt to excuse yourself. “I-er-I better”- You look back and see that Violet and your mother already look too comfortable together. You can’t wait to separate them. 

 

“Of course,” Mycroft takes a step back. He feels disappointed that you won’t even talk to him properly about things, won’t even acknowledge the fact that he’s trying and that little voice inside him grows bigger as it tells him that he might have to follow Bruno’s advice in a more prominent fashion than he’d managed to yesterday. 

 

You whirl around and march up to Violet and your mother. “Hey Mum,” you stop in front of them, swinging your arms, “I can show you my dressing room now if you like.”

 

“Oh, I can see that later.” Your mother waves a hand. You gawp at her. She’s been banging on about seeing your dressing room for weeks and now suddenly Violet Holmes shows up and it can wait. A determined expression suddenly takes over her face and she squares her shoulders. “Right, now I think I’ll go and talk to Mycroft,” she says. Your mouth drops open and you try and grab at her arm as she goes past you to no avail. You turn around and feel just as surprised as Mycroft looks when your mother grabs at his sleeve and commands him to lead her into his dressing room. He gives you a bit of a pleading look. You take a couple of steps forwards with the aim of parting them, but Violet’s hand clasps upon your arm and she turns you back to her. 

 

“Perhaps you could show me to your dressing room dear?” She smiles a little indulgently at you. 

 

She’d phrased it as if it were a question, but, knowing that you don’t have much of a choice in the matter you nod. Mycroft and your mother have already disappeared into his and you lead the way into yours. 

 

*

 

“We never got the chance to finish our conversation last night Mr. Holmes,” your mother says as soon as they’re in Mycroft’s dressing room, she’s let go of him and he’s gone across to stare broodingly into the mirror. 

 

“Ah yes, you’ll have to forgive me,” Mycroft says as breezily as he can, turning back to her. 

 

“I expect that you’re going to blame the reception again,” she looks at him levelly, “But I know that, that was just an excuse you used so that you didn't have to talk to me yesterday. I haven’t given you much choice to talk to me right now though have I?” she asks. 

 

Mycroft swallows. “No, you haven’t,” he says. 

 

“Do you know one of the things that upsets me the most about modern society Mr. Holmes?” Your mother takes a step towards him. Feeling tense Mycroft shakes his head. He wishes that she wasn’t cutting off his one escape route. “How easily people dismiss one another and how relationships generally are treated with little value. Look at how many people go on those reality-dating shows or have those apps where they choose a sleeping partner for one night and then move on again. But what upsets me even more than that Mr. Holmes is when someone dares accuse my daughter of not having worth”-Mycroft winces-“When I know, understanding my daughter as I do, that, that is just false.”

 

Mycroft swallows. Two quick strides and your mother could quite easily break the gap between them and strike him and she looks as if she might be tempted to. “I”-

 

“No speaking now,” she raises a hand, “Unless you’ve got something spectacular to say that will excuse what you said, and I doubt that you can produce anything to do such a thing, then I want to be the one who’s doing the talking.” Mycroft raises his hands in a supplicating fashion and nods. “My daughter has been through a lot Mr. Holmes, and somehow, with little input from me, she has managed to get the career she wants and this job. She’s done much better than I could have ever expected her to when I was lying in bed at night wide awake and worrying about her and all the dreams she harboured that I hoped would come true. They have Mr. Holmes and I don’t know properly what’s been going on between you but I know enough and Mr. Holmes let me tell you now that I am not going to let you or anyone else bring her down. I appreciate that you tried to make an effort with her last night, but unless you’ve actually realized that your feelings are genuine for her then I’d rather you weren’t in my daughter’s life unnecessarily ”-

 

“I”-

 

“She has been through enough and to think that when she first started this job and was complaining about you I was the one who encouraged her to see you in a different light. Well now, after you’ve said that and treated her the way that you have”-your mother lets out a heavy breath-“Let’s just say that, that’s now another thing that I have to regret in my life.”

 

“Forgive me I do not know your name”-

 

“M/N.”

 

“M/N. I thank you for trying to paint me in a better light. I do not know how much it helped, but the fact that you do not know me and yet you still did that is something that I'm most grateful for. You do not however have to regret it or think that you are not properly expressing yourself now”-

 

“Why is that?”

 

“Because,” Mycroft sighs, slips his hands into his pockets and ducks his head, “I was wrong.” Your mother inhales sharply. He looks at her. “Please don’t make me repeat it.” She folds her arms and he swallows. “I-well,” he clears his throat and adjusts his position, “I know that now and I have tried, as recently as yesterday to do something that I hoped might secure me F/N’s forgiveness.”

 

“It’s going to take a lot more than one moment to re-gain the trust that you have broken Mr. Holmes. As I'm sure you’re aware, after what happened between F/N’s father and I, she is wary of whom she gives her heart to. It will take her a while to warm up to you again, if she ever does.”

 

Mycroft nods. He senses that your mother doesn’t know the half of it and yet what with her being this angry about what she does know he can’t imagine what she would be like if she knew everything. In that moment he knows more than ever that he has to stand up to Moriarty once and for all. Not only because of you but because it is the right thing to do. 

 

*

 

“Look Mrs. Holmes,” you say, going over to sit in the chair by the dressing table. She hovers behind you like some giant persistent moth. “I know what you’re trying to do, but Mycroft’s the one who told me that I wasn’t worth it. He’s the one who broke the trust that I’d placed in him and if that’s the way things are then that’s the way they are. I can’t force him to fall in love with me.” 

 

“I don’t believe that any force is necessary,” Violet tells you. You let out a little breath and half-turn to face her, putting an arm around the back of your chair as you look at her curiously. “Oh F/N, can’t you see?” she says. “My son is already in love with you. I know full well what he said-your mother’s just explained it all-and I could throttle him for it believe me and for treating you in such a way”-you can’t help but wonder what she’d be like if she really _did_ know it all-“I would if I thought he genuinely hasn’t started to realize what a mistake he’s made and what he risks losing, but I believe that he has.” You swallow now and turn your head away. You’re not so sure that Mycroft regrets saying what he had or acting like he had. Not if it means protecting his brother and keeping his job. Violet steps even closer to you. “Dear he just doesn’t know how to love, not properly,” she squeezes at your shoulder and you look up at her, “He wants to, for you, I can see it in his eyes and hear it in the tone that he was talking to you in just now, but he’s muddling his way through all this and he’s scared.”

 

“Of what?” you look up at her desperately. 

 

“Goodness,” she brushes a strand of your hair back from your face, “I don’t know,” she goes on, though she has a fair inkling that her son’s scared that he won’t be able to be enough for you and that you’ll turn away from him for good now. “You’d have to discuss it with him and I hope that you will F/N because although, despite my long marriage, I'm not an expert in love I feel inside myself that the pair of you are meant to be together.”

 

“You and everybody else,” you say without being able to help it. “Sorry,” you apologize.”

 

“Never mind what anybody else thinks. It’s how Mycroft and you do that matter,” Violet says wisely. You frown uncertainly at yourself in the mirror. 

 

*

 

 _‘We’re not together. The article was false,’_ are the two sentences that you find yourself continuously trotting out that day. To Sally, Molly and Mary, though of course Sally knows part of the truth and you give her a look as if to say that you’ll explain the rest when your mother’s not hanging around. Each time the recipient of your words looks a little awkward and apologetic, before they scurry off again. The fact that your mother is by you the whole time doesn’t exactly help either-you think that she might finally be starting to understand the true extent of what you’ve been putting up with all this time in terms of people’s nosiness-and you feel relieved when you get to send her off to the audience. 

 

*

 

You head off to your dressing room in your golden brown dress for a quiet moment after you get your make-up finished and find that a surprise is waiting for you. A beautiful sunflower is sitting in a brown pot upon the table. Your face softens as you go across to it. 

 

 _‘To remind you to keep smiling through the difficult times. L and B,’_ reads the note that’s been placed carefully on top of the soil in front of the flower. Your heart feels suddenly lighter. 

 

“We thought it might cheer you up after the tough week you’ve had my darling,” Bruno says from where Len and he have snuck up behind you and you turn to them with a smile. Bruno’s in a brown pinstripe suit with white shirt and navy tie, whilst Len’s in a navy suit, white shirt and black tie. 

 

You go across and hug the pair of them together. “It has, thank you.” You pull back and the three of you make your way out of the dressing room. 

 

You go with Bruno to wait backstage for it’s him that you’ll be doing a little dance with at the top of today’s show, whilst Len goes to join Mycroft who’s wearing a blue suit with white shirt and black and blue diamond patterned tie. It feels oddly like going back in time and whilst it’s nice to not have to dance with Mycroft tonight and to just do an effortless twirl with Bruno instead it makes something inside your heart sink too. 

 

You go and sit down behind the judges desk. You can hear your mum clapping particularly loudly and it makes you blush. You force a smile at her once you’re in position. 

 

Mycroft’s eyes too go to his mother and yours who are sitting next to each other in the front row directly opposite. Edwin’s sitting on the other side of Violet looking a little left out. “They seem as thick as thieves,” Mycroft murmurs in reference to your mothers, not quite sure what to think about the fact. 

 

“Mm,” you half-glance at him, but he’s still looking at your mothers. 

 

The night of dance begins and out of Molly and Greg, Greg’s the one who’s up first with his Argentine Tango. This is one of the most impressive looking but difficult to do dances and what with the standard being so high now how well Greg does tonight could really make all the difference between him staying in the competition or him going home. 

 

That’s clearly something that’s in the back of his mind as in the VT he says, “It’s like going back to week one here. I'm having trouble remembering everything and getting those sharp flicks done at the right time. My mind just feels like jelly.” 

 

You feel sorry for him when you can feel the tension radiating off him as he assumes his position, but as soon as the traditional music starts it’s like something just comes over him, you see his face fall completely into character and then he’s off again. His moves are sharp and for the first time you really believe that he’s one hundred per cent leading Janette across the floor. Of course things are not perfect, there are a couple of stumbles due to mistimed kicks, but they are damn near close to being so. 

 

“Oh Greg,” you say when Tess comes to you for feedback, “I am so proud of you.” Greg’s chocolate eyes light up beneath his sweaty forehead and over his panting mouth and if he were a dog then he would have been wagging his tail right now. “That is without doubt one of the hardest dances and you coped with it so well. You know that I feel like you’ve been progressing all the while, but I really felt like there was a transformation inside you tonight and my God have you been practicing your technique,” you throw your head forwards in a sharp bow and the audience clap appreciatively at your words. “I know it might be a bit premature, but I'm starting to think that there’s definitely a place in the final for you.” The audience goes even wilder at that. 

 

Mycroft though feels the need to say in a sardonic tone, “I think you might be getting ahead of yourself there F/N. There are plenty of people that I can see in the final, before Greg Lestrade and whilst I agree with F/N that your moves were sharp”-he looks back at Greg now-“I think you could have given the dance more attack and passion.”

 

“ ‘Attack and passion?’” you screech and Mycroft’s heart gives a jolt in surprise, before it flips over and settles happily back down again when he turns his head to see how incredulous and angry you look as you stare at him. Your fire is back and this is exactly how things should be. “Just how much attack and passion do you want Mycroft Holmes? Did you even see him out there?” You gesture to the floor. 

 

“Yes, believe it or not I wasn’t watching the other side,” Mycroft quips and a few people laugh at that. Even your lip twitches upward, before you can stop it. “I just think that to tell someone that you can see them in the final when we are still a month away from it is a little reckless of you. It just encourages complacency. You should be telling them to keep striving hard and working for perfection.”

 

“Fine! Work hard Greg,” you look at the footballer who’s grinning a little and punch the air upward. The audience emits a chuckle and your mother smiles. She can tell that you’re enjoying yourself, perhaps for the first time in days and it makes her heart sing. “Happy now?” you look back at Mycroft. 

 

“Unbelievably so,” he murmurs in a smug fashion and you look at him with a furrowed brow, before you lean back again. When he looks at you, you frown. Undeterred he shoots you a little smile and you notice that he does genuinely look happy about something. Perhaps the fact that you’d bickered with him? Your heart sinks. 

 

“Just because I argued with you doesn’t mean that I like you or trust you. I can’t ever see myself doing so again, so I think you should know that.” 

 

Mycroft lets out a breath, but you both watch as Molly begins to dance. As you do so Mycroft can barely concentrate on her dance or on any of the others that follow. He feels that feeling again, that knowledge that he has to stand up to Moriarty. He knows that he’ll probably get fired for it, but knows too now that there can be no other alternative. If he does get kicked off then he’ll just have to look after Sherlock some other way. At least Sherlock has friends like John here who Mycroft knows will look out for him. The idea of leaving his brother in Moriarty’s web and fleeing it himself does not sit well with him, but as he half-glances at you and breathes in your scent he knows that he cannot do anything else. He does though feel worried that standing up to Moriarty alone might not be enough to win you back. Like your mother had said because of your past experiences you might need more than just one big moment and several, before you can even think of taking him back. He considers his options. He could put flowers in your dressing room or write you a letter of sorts where he tries to explain everything. Explain that he’d been wrong. Explain so much. Neither of them seem enough though. He huffs out a breath and shifts his position, making you jump when his leg catches against yours. His heart sinks at your reaction. He’s no good at this. At having relationships, at being _delicate…_ no good at any of it. He’s not charming or someone who knows instinctively how to woo someone or do all the right things. Lucky for him though he thinks as Bruno makes a comment on the dance that’s just been he knows someone who is. 

 

In the break in between shows he leaves the desk almost immediately after Len and Bruno and before you’ve even stood up. He makes his way to Bruno’s dressing room Then he takes a deep breath, for it will be a considerable knock to his pride to do this and knocks upon the door. 

 

“Come in,” calls Bruno’s crisp voice. Mycroft swallows and moves as confidently as he can inside. “Ah,” Bruno says, seeing his fellow judge drift across to come reflected in the mirror he’s sitting before, “Mycroft, what a pleasant surprise. What brings you here?”

 

“Actually,” Mycroft swallows, “I need your help.” Bruno’s eyebrows rise and he swivels in his chair, before he stands and faces the slightly awkward Mycroft. But Mycroft’s face is full of determination as he adds, “I know that you’ve already made a suggestion as to how I can re-gain F/N’s affection, but I was wondering if you had any ideas about what else I could do? A-Along with that?”

 

“I am glad to see that you have come to your senses and are treating F/N more like you should,” Bruno’s face clears in satisfaction and Mycroft feels his jaw tense. He’s sure that if it had been Bruno in this situation then he’d already be living happily-ever-after with his desired someone. “Well,” Bruno says with a wave of his hands, “We are on one of the biggest shows in television. There are more sparkles and glamour surrounding us here than anywhere else. I am sure that you can come up with something.” 

 

Mycroft would be quite annoyed with Bruno’s vague unhelpfulness if an idea hadn’t just popped into his head because of the Italian’s words and when he leaves the dressing room in the next moment he does so feeling a renewed energy inside him that he can put everything right after all. Such a thing soon changes however when he sees you storming down the corridor towards him, followed closely by Len who has a worried expression upon his face. You let out a little growl when you see Mycroft and make to go past him without a word, but feeling taken aback and concerned he asks you, “F/N?”

 

“Her father’s turned up outside of the studio’s gates. He’s been trying to get in all throughout the show,” Len says in breathless explanation and that’s all it takes for Mycroft to turn and jog to catch up with you, leaving a flustered Len and an anxious looking Bruno whose been drawn out of his dressing room by the commotion behind. 

 

“You don’t have to see him,” is the first thing that Mycroft manages to say once he’s caught up with you. 

 

You stop at the top of the corridor and turn to him angrily. “I know that,” you blurt out, “I don’t need you telling me that. But he hasn’t exactly given me much choice has he? If I don’t go out then he won’t go away and he’ll just continue to embarrass himself and me. I don’t want Mum knowing about this. Why did he have to turn up tonight? When she was here? Why couldn't he have just come if he had to at a normal time? During Saturday rehearsal at the worst? I could have just blown him off then. Why does he have to come when I'm trying to do a show?” You make to turn and walk again. 

 

“I’ll go with you,” Mycroft says, hurrying around the corner. 

 

“I don’t want you to,” you stop, chewing on your lip. “This will be bad enough as it is. I don’t need you getting some false idea that I’ll forgive you just because you come with me now.”

 

“F/N,” Mycroft says with some frustration in his tone, “It’s like you’ve said. This will be difficult for you and you need someone”-

 

“I never said”-

 

“Stop being stubborn and thinking about everything that’s happened between us and start thinking about the present, how close I know you are to crying right now and how you might need someone, even if it is me, after meeting the father you haven’t seen for years.” 

 

“Urgh,” you mutter, feeling annoyed at how well he knows you. “Okay,” you say softly, making to turn again, but before you can Mycroft takes your hand, draws it up to his lips and kisses it. You blush, but when he glances up at you, you tug your hand away from him sharply. “It doesn’t mean that you can do that,” you tell him. “Like I said I don’t want you getting any ideas.” You point at him. 

 

“Just thanking you for being sensible for once in your life. Greg Lestrade in the final, honestly.” He shakes his head. 

 

Your eyes get that sharpness about them that they always do when you argue with him. “Hey,” you knock against his shoulder, “I don’t think it’s so far-fetched. Don’t you feel impressed with him at all?” you ask. 

 

Mycroft pretends to consider your question for a moment. “No,” he says. 

 

A laugh escapes your lips without you being able to help it at that, but then Anderson announces, “This is everyone’s ten minute warning. That’s ten minutes until the filming of the results show will commence,” over the tannoy. 

 

You let out a bit of a regretful sigh. “Come on,” you take Mycroft’s hand automatically, “We need to get this done.” You begin to lead him forwards. 

 

“So I can’t take your hand, but you can take mine?” Mycroft tries to continue the light atmosphere that had been between you, before the announcement. You let out a sound of irritation and drop it. “I didn't mean it,” Mycroft says quickly, taking your hand again. 

 

You shrug a little, feeling tense and apprehensive about what’s to come and make the rest of the walk in silence. As soon as you get outside of the studio Mycroft gives your hand a quick squeeze, before he lets go of it. You can see your father standing just behind the gates in the semi-darkness. “That’s him,” you say to Mycroft with a nod at the man you haven’t seen since you were four-years-old. You've forgotten that Mycroft would have seen his face in the paper. Mycroft makes a sound of acknowledgement in his throat. You make your way past the barrier, nodding at the man in the box as you do so and finally step out in front of your father. 

 

“Oh F/N, oh sweetie, oh I'm so glad that you came to see me,” your father says, in a dark blue shirt and jeans. He attempts to hug you, but you lean away from him. Mycroft’s hands go on your upper arms and he helps pull you back a little. “Hey,” your father says, looking at him, “I know that you’re a big part of F/N’s life right now, but do you think that you could leave us? This is supposed to be a big moment between us, a father re-uniting with his daughter.”

 

You’re prickling all over with irritation already, but this is close to the final straw. 

 

“I believe that F/N needs me,” Mycroft’s grip tightens on you, “I will not leave her.”

 

That just makes you feel even angrier. You wrench yourself away from him and step off to the side. Mycroft looks surprised and your father gives him a satisfied look as if to say that maybe you don’t need him that much after all. “You can take that smug look off your face Dad. I don’t want or need either of you right now.” Mycroft’s mouth flutters open, but your attention is on your father. “I don’t need you, coming here when I'm at work and embarrassing us all. Mum’s here tonight and I don’t want her getting upset by you so you better clear off. You've had plenty of times where you could have _‘re-united,’_ with me without getting the national press involved. In case you haven’t noticed I’ve coped well enough without you for all these years and I fully intend to do the same in the future. I don’t want to meet your new family. I am not going to be some claim to fame. And I don’t need you”-you round on Mycroft-“Making all this about you and what’s happened between us. I told you already. I can’t trust you. You’re both as bad as each other,” and with that you whirl around and stride off with folded arms back to the studio. 

 

Mycroft and your father just look at each other in a nonplussed fashion for a moment, as if they’re both wondering what has just happened, before Mycroft turns on his heel and hurries after you. He’s too late though. When he returns to the corridor of dressing rooms it’s to see that you’ve already got your head pressed into Bruno’s shoulder, whilst both Len and he comfort you. Bruno looks at him darkly. Later the Italian will tell him that he better come up with something good, but for now he just guides you to the make-up room so that you can be ready to go out again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: Will Mycroft be able to win you back? Or are you lost to him forever?


	8. Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft and you both make a life-changing choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're here already at the final chapter! I hope you enjoy it and I wish you all a merry Christmas and the happiest of New Years. :)
> 
> The dress Reader wears at one point-you'll know it when you read it-was inspired by one of the ones that Katniss wears in the Hunger Games trilogy. :)

As December arrives Mycroft works hard behind the scenes and barely bothers you on the show or otherwise, having taken the stance that his later actions will speak for themselves, though he does have the odd on-show argument with you more to amuse the public than anything else. The press meanwhile seems puzzled that Mycroft and you aren't being more open in your relationship. If anything then to them you seem like less of a couple now than you had before Riley’s supposed interview. 

 

Not to his surprise Mycroft’s called in to see Moriarty at the end of the first week of the last month of the year. He’s been waiting for this moment for a long time, knowing as soon as it happened that his time on the show would be coming to an end. He dresses carefully that Friday morning, putting on one of his most expensive grey suits with gold lining, a yellow tie and a cream shirt. All the lighter colours will hopefully remind him of why he’s doing all this should he get close to stumbling-for the greater good, which is ironically the exact same reason why he’d first thought he was getting into a relationship with you for. 

 

He goes to stand outside Moriarty’s office to wait to be called in and spends most of the time adjusting his cuffs. His surroundings are quiet, eerie. His heart only seems to be operating on every other beat. 

 

Finally, Sebastian, wearing a dark brown suit with a dark grey shirt and a black tie that has images of wolves heads on it pops his head around the door. “You can come in now,” he says uninterestedly. 

 

Mycroft nods and swivels on his heel, following the man into the office. 

 

Moriarty’s in his usual middle spot behind the desk in a dark suit, cream shirt with rounded collar and navy tie. He looks at Mycroft with an air of satisfaction about his face, before he gestures that he should take a seat. Once both Mycroft and Sebastian are seated, the latter once more loyally to the side of his boss, Moriarty asks in a dangerous voice, “Why is it that I’m hearing from some of the professional dancers that you’ve enlisted them for something?”

 

“That would be because I’ve made a choice Sir,” Mycroft says.

 

“A choice?” Moriarty asks. 

 

Mycroft nods. “I will not be trapped here any more”-Moriarty’s eyes narrow-“You have tried to use the fact that my brother is here to make me stay here, but I believe that my brother will be fine. It is F/N and myself who I would be letting down if I did not try and make it up with her.” 

 

Moriarty lets out a scoffing noise. “She has melted you!”

 

“I prefer to think of it as she’s added another layer to me Sir”-

 

“Another layer?” Moriarty says in that same mocking tone.

 

“Whatever the case Sir,” Mycroft waves a hand at him, “You can fire me, but I'm afraid that I have no intention to stop my plan from going ahead. I will continue to work towards it and hopefully I will be able to win all of F/N’s trust this time and not just part of it. I will do all of this no matter whether the end result means my departure from the show.”

 

Moriarty looks at him consideringly. “I will not fire you,” he says. 

 

 _“Sir?”_ Mycroft asks in surprise and Moriarty looks pleased by his reaction. 

 

“Better to keep your enemies close after all. Good luck with F/N. After all it will only be to my favour if you manage to make things up with her.”

 

“I'm afraid that I won’t be going along with any more of your schemes Sir no matter what the case.”

 

“That’s a shame since my last one got you a girlfriend,” Moriarty says with a distinct edge to his tone.

 

“It’s like I said Sir. I’ve made a choice,” Mycroft says, getting to his feet and swallowing a little apprehensively now. 

 

“Then I'm afraid in that case I’ll have to dismiss you after all,” Moriarty says, making his own decision. 

 

Mycroft nods. He’d expected nothing less. He turns around and strides out of the office, trying to walk as confidently as he can even though all the blood’s rushing to his ears and his legs feel a little weak. He lets out a sharp breath a moment later when he nearly collides with you just outside. 

 

“Mycroft?” you ask in surprise as he pushes himself off you using his arms. 

 

“F/N! What are you doing here?” He lets go of you and smoothes himself down. 

 

“I was going to see Moriarty. I didn't realize that you had the appointment before mine.” 

 

Mycroft’s heart sinks now and for some reason he feels uneasy about your words. “And what”-he looks at you-“If you don’t mind me asking were you intending to see him about?” 

 

You look suddenly awkward. Finally you ground yourself and look up at him, trying to be confident. “I know he’s probably done the worst that he can to me. Bringing all that up about my dad again, but I’ve done a lot of thinking over these past couple of weeks, y’know when we haven’t really been talking, and its occurred to me that the best thing for me to do would be to declare now that I don’t want to do anything beyond this series and the Christmas special.” 

 

“I suppose that might be for the best,” Mycroft muses. You look at him. “I think this show has changed you enough as it is, it could be that it will be better for you to get out now, before it can do any more damage.” You swallow at that and the air between you feels sad for a moment. “I can’t help but think that it’s a shame though,” Mycroft finishes quietly.

 

“Yeah, I guess.” You suddenly feel like crying and look away from him. 

 

“No,” Mycroft says touching your arm. When you look back you’re surprised to see that he suddenly looks sheepish. “I meant your timing. I think you’ll find that our boss is already in a bit of a bad mood and that’s another thing that you can blame me for”-

 

‘Why?’ you mouth. 

 

“I’ve quit,” Mycroft says, shooting you a forced half-smile, before he lets go of you and walks off. 

 

You whirl around and watch after him with an open mouth. You’re about to call or follow after him or do something reckless when Sebastian calls you inside the office. Taking a deep breath you turn and go inside. 

 

*

 

The announcement that both Mycroft and you are leaving the show comes the next day and it instantly creates a flurry of attention. Bruno and Len call you to say that they’re sad to hear about your departure, but that they understand why you feel it has to be that way all the same. Kitty Riley writes an article speculating that Mycroft and you will be moving in with each other and getting married soon and hints that you might be pregnant. You curse her, but look forward to proving her wrong when you don’t start to show in a few months time. Whilst the public, along with your mother, seem saddened by the fact. You get the sense that your mother believes that you should have given things more of a chance, before making such a decision, but you can easily ignore this feeling of guilt due to the fact that she doesn’t know everything. A petition is started to re-instate you both on the show by the public. Apparently to some viewers Mycroft and you have been a highlight on the show this year and they don’t want to let you go. It’s not their decision though it’s yours and you’ve already decided. You’re not going to change your mind now no matter how much you’re going to miss a hell of a lot of people, especially Bruno and Len. Whilst though you feel a little undecided about how you feel about Mycroft-part of you feels proud of him in a sense for going against Moriarty and you know in your heart that you’ll miss him-another part of you feels that he should have done what he had ages ago and you want to protect yourself. 

 

*

 

It’s the end of the semi-final results show and both Molly and Greg are through to the final along with a third competitor. Just before you get up to clap and say goodbye to the unlucky contestant who’s not going through you glance at Mycroft and find it hard to believe just how soon you’ll both be out of each other’s lives. You feel such an ache because of it that you have to look away again. 

 

Mycroft catches your look and feels hopeful because of it. He’d felt sad when you’d resigned and worried that he’d largely been to blame for it. He’d also been worried that you might move on and that he’d never see you again. But that little glance from you tells him that your mind is still very much on him. It bolsters him and makes him all the more determined to make everything work out for the better. 

 

*

 

You wake up the morning of the final with mixed emotions. Part of you feels happy that you’ve had this chance to be part of what is a fantastic show in spite of the fact that one of your personal relationships on it hadn’t worked out. But the other part of you feels sad that it’ll be coming to an end soon. Sure there’s the Christmas special that you’ll be pre-recording on Monday, but that’s usually just a fun hour show with one-off celebrity dancers and a winner who’s crowned by the studio audience rather than the public one. Your time watching Molly and Greg perform will end tonight. 

 

Still, you dress in the casual clothes you’ve picked out for that day-a white t-shirt, black jacket with red epaulettes and jeans-enthusiastically enough despite the pain inside your chest as you just try to focus on the positive aspects and push the sad ones aside. 

 

“One last show,” you say to Midnight, before you go out the door. He gives a muted meow in response.

 

*

 

“I wish you had a psychic link with the real F/N,” Mycroft says to F/N the fish just after he’s fed her for the day and dressed himself in a grey suit and open necked white shirt. F/N the fish keeps half-an-eye on him as she nibbles on her food. “Then you could tell her that she just needs to have patience. Tell her that if she does that then things might just work out.” F/N the fish does a quick little loop around her disco ball as if she’s already celebrating. “It’s a little too early for that,” he warns, but a small smile comes on his face when he gently dips his finger into the bowl and she comes up to inspect it. 

 

*

 

 _Good luck,_ is the text that you get from your mother on your way to Elstree studios, and you can’t know that she’s hoping that Mycroft will carry out a plan of action tonight, so that you can be fully happy again. 

 

*

 

“Might I expect to see you doing something for F/N on tonight’s show?” Violet asks Mycroft via phone as he gets ferried to the studio in a black car. 

 

“Perhaps,” Mycroft says vaguely. He hopes that both his mother and you won’t be too disappointed when nothing of that sort happens. He’d considered doing his plan tonight. But the final should be about the contestants, no one else he’d thought. In any case he thinks that since the Christmas show will be the last time the both of you will be judging you should go out with a bang. 

 

*

 

As soon as you get to the studio you make sure that Bruno and Len aren't inside their dressing rooms, before you sneak inside. You've brought them both a beautiful red plant in a black vase and put pebbles around them that say: _‘Thank You For Being My Friend.’_ You hope that they’ll like them and that rather than thinking them cheesy they’ll realize the depth of gratitude that you have for them. You hope that you’ll still be able to be friends. 

 

*

 

“Oh my God, good luck for tonight Greg,” Molly says, flapping her hands as she stands in front of him wearing a beautiful golden brown dress that has ruby studs on. 

 

“You too,” Greg smiles, feeling tense, but able to be more outwardly in control of his emotions than Molly is. “Just remember that if one of us wins then it’s all right. It’s not going to effect us,” he says. 

 

Molly nods. That’s a point that they've already been through several times. She’d been happy after the semi-final, full of adrenalin at having made it into the final and having done Kevin proud, but the more that she’d thought about it the more upset and panicky she’d grown at the thought that Greg might be cross with her if she won. It had all come out one night when Greg had stayed at hers and he’d reassured her then, just as he is now, telling her that she was not under any means to go easy on him-not that she’d been intending to anyway, she’s come far too far for that-and that it wouldn't have a poor effect on their relationship. 

 

You watch them from halfway up the corridor, looking around one of the doors with a smile, but feeling lonely too. 

 

“Nice to see that they’re supporting one another,” comes a soft voice from behind you and you jump, turning your head to see that Mycroft’s peering at them from over your shoulder. You can tell that he wants things to be like that between you too, although part of you asks warningly if it’s really because of what you want it to be. But then, you think, as you remember the fact that he’s leaving the show too, he doesn’t exactly have to worry about impressing Moriarty any more. You begin to wonder if his feelings might be genuine. 

 

“Uh, yeah,” you say, clearing your throat, withdrawing your head and turning back to face him. He steps back to accommodate you. For a moment both of your eyes, unable to help it, just take each other in. Mycroft’s in a navy tuxedo, which has black lining and edging around the cuffs, a dark blue bow-tie and a white shirt. He looks very dapper with his hair neatly combed. Your eyes like what they see without being able to help it. Suddenly you wonder again if he’s being honest, _but,_ feeling unsure, you turn your head away. 

 

Mycroft thinks you look beautiful in your elegant, sparkly caramel-coloured dress, which has a hint of the Chinese style about it and a high collar. Whilst your hair looks almost like it has a chopstick through it, holding it back in a bun, as two ringlets hang down either side of your face. But something about you appears vulnerable too and whilst he loves you for not having turned your heart away from him he feels guilt for staining this moment. It’s the final. You should be excited and happy. You both should be. You in particular should be looking forward to many more years to come on the show. But instead he’s standing here and watching you look away from him because it’s too hard for you to bear and feeling guilt for his words and guilt for letting weeks pass and for keeping you cocooned in this painful state. He just hopes that you’ll understand in time and realize that he’d done the right thing in planning all of this carefully, so that he can make it up to you properly. Feeling like it has to be said Mycroft tells you, “You look astonishingly beautiful.”

 

You look back to him with a faint smile upon your face. Then, deciding to be unguarded for once you say, “You look very handsome.” You bow your head with a blush. 

 

“I fear that you are being kinder to me than I deserve, but thank you,” Mycroft replies just as a voice cries, “Oh F/N my darling,” from behind him. Mycroft turns around and shifts aside, his brow slightly furrowed until he sees the other two judges standing thee. Bruno and Len’s attentions are completely on you. “The flowers you gave Len and I are beautiful, almost as beautiful as you look tonight. Wouldn't you agree with me Mycroft?” Bruno kisses at your hand and looks slyly at the other judge. Expecting him to say that he’s already made a point about such a thing you look towards Mycroft uncertainly. His gaze is on Bruno. 

 

“I have not seen the flowers,” he clicks his heels together, “But I find it hard to believe that anything could possibly match or indeed top how dazzling F/N looks tonight.”

 

Your blush if anything grows more profound, but you can’t help but ask him, “What are you doing?” 

 

“I am paying you a compliment,” Mycroft looks at you, “One that you will hopefully accept.” Your mouth opens and closes for a moment. He nods at you with a level expression on his face, before he turns smartly on his heel and makes to move off again. 

 

“Hold on brother,” Sherlock says, gliding towards you with his camera. Mycroft purses his lips and steps reluctantly back beside the other judges and you. You gaze up at him, still wondering about what he’d said. Had he really meant it? Could he really have chosen you over his own brother? Over Moriarty? He meets your gaze steadily and a beat of energy passes between you. Sherlock clears his throat loudly. “If you could stop sending secret messages to your on-off, currently off lover”- Mycroft’s face sours. 

 

“Oh do not be so harsh on your brother Sherlock,” Bruno cries with a bit of laughter in his tone, before it becomes more serious and seductive as he murmurs, “I am sure that Mycroft misses F/N just as much as she misses him.” You look at Bruno with narrowed eyes. What’s he on about? Does he know something that you don’t? You wonder. But you can’t imagine Mycroft going to him for advice. You look at your ex-partner again and he meets your gaze. 

 

“In any case perhaps you could tell me what you’re looking forward to tonight?” Sherlock steps back, before he switches the camera on and gestures that you’re going to need to squash up after looking through it. Somehow you end up being between Mycroft and Len with Mycroft’s hand on your back and your face nearly squashed up against his chest. The smell of coconut overwhelms you. Sherlock raises an eyebrow as if one of you should begin. 

 

“Ladies first,” Bruno waves a hand from where he’s the other side of Len towards you. 

 

 _“Oh,”_ you murmur, feeling a bit flustered. You make to fiddle with your hair, but when Mycroft’s grip tightens upon your back you feel something jerk into life inside you and it’s like you’ve regained your fire again. “I'm looking forward to the show dances,” you say more confidently, “Though I’ll be looking for plenty of content and not just a spectacle. I really want all the show dances to show us a combination of everything that the celebrities have learnt and for them to be able to demonstrate that with flair.”

 

“Yes, I agree with F/N,” Mycroft says with no prompting, “A show dance, and I think Len with his leaning towards being more old-fashioned will agree with me on this”-Len’s eyebrows furrow in anticipation-“Should not be a chance to show off just how athletic you are.” Len nods. “Tricks are fine,” Mycroft goes on, “But the best dances in my opinion won’t waste much time with them.”

 

“There will hopefully be a good story told too,” Bruno says, and everyone nods their heads in agreement. “We want everyone to wow us tonight and be as special as F/N’s dress.” You let out a laugh at that and with all that said you make your way to the studio. 

 

The show begins amongst a fever of anticipation and a very eager audience. The first dances of the night are ones that the rest of the judges and you have chosen for them. You’d popped in earlier during the week to do the recording and reveal which one of the dances you’d picked. Greg does the Quickstep and you give him a nine. Whilst Molly ends up doing her Tango. You in particular had pushed for such a thing after it had gone so wrong before. There are fewer mistakes this time and it’s a much cleaner, crisper performance. You give that a nine too. Molly ends up on top after the first round. But the judges scores tonight are just to give the audience some guidance on which dances are best professionally and don’t count towards the final result. The vote opens as soon as the first round is over. Then the show dances begin. Greg goes first, but you’re left feeling disappointed by him. Despite the skimpy black top showing off his chest there had been too many lifts and too much posing in it for your liking. The audience seems to enjoy it though, giving Greg and Janette a standing ovation. 

 

It’s Molly’s turn then and you feel much happier with hers. There’s a definite 1920’s vibe to it and it’s a mixture of Charleston, Tango and Rhumba. It starts off with Molly coming out of a fake lift that’s close to the orchestra pit and takes a comedic route when she nearly runs into Kevin the bellboy. That’s where the Charleston element of it comes in, and then, when the two characters that Molly and Kevin are playing find that they have more chemistry with one another it transforms into the heat of a Tango and then into the simmering passion of a Rhumba with the lifts being used to accentuate the beautiful relationship rather than just occurring meaninglessly on their own. You can tell that they've worked hard on it, performing some difficult moves that Len will surely remark upon and congratulate them for, but they make it look so effortless and the overall feeling that the dance portrays, with the last two thirds of it in particular reminding you of what your relationship with Mycroft had once been like, along with the fact that you can see how much Molly has improved and grown in confidence leaves you feeling quite emotional. 

 

Molly and Kevin share a big hug once they've finished the dance and then go over to Tess who receives them with warm enthusiasm. 

 

“Well done my darlings. That was amazing. Now let’s go to the judges. F/N?”

 

“Well Molly, you’ve come on haven’t you?” you grin in a pleased fashion at her and as Molly’s face breaks out into a relieved smile the audience laugh appreciatively. “I mean wow that was stunning and I have to congratulate Kevin too for doing something, which really extended the work you’ve done on the show and for taking it up to the next level. The choreography and story were in sync together and could not have complemented each other any better. Well done.”

 

The other judges are equally as complimentary with Mycroft having enjoyed the story aspect of it in particular and then the scores are revealed. 

 

“Nine,” Mycroft announces crisply and it’s a testament to how good the dance was when a nine gets booed. 

 

“A fantastic show dance,” you remark, before you stand up and thrust your paddle into the air. “Ten!” the audience goes wild. You can hear Molly’s shriek from where she’s now with Claudia upstairs and it makes you smile. 

 

“As sentimental as ever,” Mycroft murmurs, and you bop him on the head with your paddle, before you can stop yourself. He looks at you and you blush a bit, before you face the front again. Mycroft smiles. 

 

“From Len a ten,” Len says. 

 

“Ten!” Bruno finishes off with gusto and you high-five your paddles with Bruno and Len, before you sit down again. 

 

The final dances of the evening have been picked by the couples themselves, with their favourites being performed. In the leader board Molly ends up on top, but only by two points. It’s a close run thing in the other judges and your eyes. 

 

Then, finally, after some musical performances, much chatter and building of anticipation comes the final result. You swallow as all three couples take their place a little back and either side of the glitter ball trophy. Molly’s furthest away from you and she looks sick as she stands there in her silky looking black dress, red lipstick and her hair done up in a bun as Kevin-also looking sharp in his dark suit-clutches at her waist. Molly’s got her head ducked and she seems tempted to close her eyes. Greg in his tight fitting dark suit is upright but completely tense as he stands there. 

 

Everyone seems to be holding their breath in the studio and you could hear a pin drop. 

 

“The winners of _‘Strictly Come Dancing,’_ are…” Tess begins, before what feels like the longest silence of all time kicks in. You’d thought it had been bad when you’d been sitting at home watching the show in previous years, but that is nothing compared to what it feels like now you’re here in the studio and not only that but behind the judges desk and having developed a relationship with these couples and seen them performing week in, week out. Your fingers twitch against your legs. Your lips and throat feel completely dry. You swallow a couple of times. Mycroft, sitting next to you, shifts his position and fights the mad urge he has to take your hand. “Molly and Kevin!”

 

The studio goes wild. Before you know what you’re doing you’re on your feet and clapping madly, whilst what feels like a million pieces of silver confetti stream down from the rafters. 

 

Then you’re at the BBC bar and drinking yourself silly and laughing profusely at the funny impression Molly does of you that one week near the start where you’d stood up and pointed as you’d told Mycroft off, whilst Kevin does his best impression of a bewildered, gob smacked Mycroft that even has the real one’s lip twitching as he goes by. You dance and laugh and talk with what feels like everybody. You get a big grin upon your face when you see Sally with her arms wrapped around Sherlock’s neck as she kisses him. They leave together not long after and slowly the people inside the bar start to diminish and there’s only a few of you left. 

 

“I'm going to take off my darling,” Bruno says in your ear, clutching at your shoulder. You twist around in a wobbly fashion from where you’re sitting on one of the stools by the bar to look at him. “Do you want me to call you a taxi and wait with you for it?” 

 

“No, no,” you say in a slurred fashion with a sloppy wave of your hand, “I’ll be fine.”

 

“Are you sure?” Bruno checks. 

 

“Yeah, yeah, just gonna stay here for a minute,” you lift up your latest cocktail-a blue one with a pink umbrella decoration-and some of the liquid spills over your hands. 

 

“Perhaps I should also stay for a minute too then,” Bruno says, not trusting you to get home by yourself. 

 

 _“Bruno,”_ your eyes widen suddenly as if you’re seeing him for the first time. You put your glass down on the bar with a thump and turn towards him. Before Bruno knows what you’re doing you’ve slid off your stool and come to be standing in front of him. “Bruno dance,” you mutter, making him wince with your alcohol breath and putting your wet hands upon his shoulders. They slide to hang in the air behind him as you shift closer. “Do you remember when we danced together in Blackpool?” you almost purr in a catlike fashion at him as you curl your hands up towards his head, rake them a little through his hair and push your head just beneath his shoulder as Bruno tentatively puts his hands upon your waist. 

 

“Yes,” Bruno murmurs, as you lift your head up, let out a soft breath and push your cheek against his contentedly, “Although I think that we both know that you should have been dancing with another then. A gentleman who is in fact giving me the darkest look of jealousy as we speak, so if”- Bruno steers you around gently with some difficulty and you let out a little breath as you see Mycroft sitting directly opposite you. Silver confetti and streamers lay all around him. He looks at you steadily from the spot he’s been sitting in alone and watching constantly as you laughed and moved from one silly endeavour to the next. You feel a jerk inside you, as if Mycroft and you are bound together by invisible string and you’re being pulled towards him. 

 

“Yes I should”- you break off and push yourself off, of Bruno, before you use his shoulder as an aid to help steady yourself and launch you over to Mycroft. In that moment you’re not thinking about Moriarty, you’re not asking yourself if you can trust Mycroft, you’re just acting in the way in which you want to. 

 

“Yes my darling go home,” Bruno says as he watches you go. 

 

You nearly trip over the silver table leg that’s close to Mycroft, before you sit down next to the auburn-haired man carelessly. Mycroft turns his head to look at you. “I'm just gonna”-you gesture vaguely-“Because I should.” Your words don’t make the faintest sense to him, but as you swing your legs up on the seat, splay them off to the side of you, lie down and rest your head upon Mycroft’s lap, gazing at the underside of the table as if it’s fascinating to you, Mycroft finds that he doesn’t much care. He strokes at your hair and you let out a contented sigh. 

 

Knowing that it’s now safe to do so Bruno leaves you both. 

 

*

 

When you wake up that morning with the biggest hangover you’ve had in years and a piece of silver confetti stuck to your shoulder you don’t have any idea of how you’d ended up back home, let alone on top of your duvet in the casual clothes you’d changed back into, before heading to the bar. That is until you smell a whiff of coconut and you jerk your head upward with a groan. A glass of water, a packet of paracetamol and a note that says: **Good afternoon, at least that’s the stage of the day that I'm suspecting it will be when you finally emerge from your slumber-** you quickly check the clock. It’s eleven fifty-seven. “Ha,” you get out triumphantly, before you quickly cover your mouth when you let out a loud burp- **In case you’re wondering I brought you home last night** -“Oh God no”- **Nothing happened and don’t worry. Aside from doing the worst Tango I have ever seen with Len, nearly wiping half your cocktail on Bruno as you danced with him and falling asleep you did nothing at all that would count as embarrassing. Kind regards, Mycroft.**

 

“Loveable bastard,” you mutter, dropping your head back onto your pillow and trying to contemplate a life post-Monday and post-Mycroft. You can’t. Not one that makes you feel happy anyway. “Just me and you again Midnight,” you murmur as the cat jumps up on the bed beside you. You pat at him. 

 

*

 

You’re still feeling melancholy when you enter Elstree studios for the last time that Monday. In fact you’re so wrapped up in thoughts of gloom about how soon you’ll be walking down the corridor to get your make-up done for the last time, marvelling at your outfit and how your dressing room will soon not be yours-that when you go through a door that’s halfway down the corridor you’re only half-aware of someone letting you come through it on the other side. It takes Mycroft grabbing at your arm for you to realize that it’s him. 

 

“What’s that look on your face?” he asks, unable to decipher it for once, but knowing what he’s hoping it’s about. “Don’t tell me that you’re still hungover?” he adds with a little disgust to try and cover up how desperate he is for your feelings to still be strong for him and for you to be sadder about this possibly being the last time that you’re seeing him than the studio. 

 

“Oh no,” you hesitate, before you go on, “Actually”-you blush-“I’ve just been thinking about how much I'm going to miss everything, and”- your gaze grows more uncertain and intense. 

 

 _“Yes?”_ Mycroft pushes, feeling like he’s holding his breath. 

 

“I-I think I'm going to miss you too,” you flush. 

 

“Well,” Mycroft says, feeling cautiously optimistic, but trying to play things casually, “Let’s just see what happens tonight then shall we?” He grasps at your shoulders and kisses at your cheek, before he pulls away again. 

 

Your skin dances at his touch and you feel speechless. All you can do as he brushes past you with a tight smile is look after him. Just before he comes to the end of the corridor he stops and looks back at you. Your mouth flops open. A knowing grin comes over his face, before he goes on his way again. You close your mouth and do the same. 

 

As the day moves on though and you get into your costume you soon forget about Mycroft’s little moment with you. For your outfit truly is stunning. You look like an ice queen with your long dress in its silvery blue colour and your hair pulled back in a chignon. 

 

“If you turn a couple of times,” Mary tells you, breaking off her conversation with Sally and Irene in the make-up room as you enter it, before she adds hurriedly, “Don’t do it now,” with a raised hand when you begin to turn, “The dress will change colour.”

 

You chew on your lip as you look down on it. You feel so tempted to turn. Sally, seeing your dilemma, hurriedly says, “Why don’t you sit down F/N? I want to keep you looking mostly natural tonight, but a bit of blusher never hurt anyone. You need to be looking your best.” You look at her curiously. “Your last show and all.” You nod and sit down, feeling sad. 

 

You only cheer up a fraction when Mrs. Hudson comes around with the tea trolley and some special Christmas cookies that she’s made. 

 

The old woman pats at your arm fondly. “You can have as many as you like dear, just don’t drop them all on your outfit or I’ll never be allowed back here.” You grin at that and the others laugh. 

 

*

 

You’ll be going on with Mycroft that night and as you join him backstage your eyebrows rise up slightly. “We match,” you say as you take in how product has been put into his hair to make it look more silver and frost like, he’s got a touch of blue eye shadow on, that same frost like quality to the tops of his shoulders, which are covered in a black jacket and dark blue shirt. He’s also wearing a navy tie, black socks and shoes. 

 

“Yes,” Mycroft hums, his eyes flicking over the entirety of you as they are wont to do, “It is the last time we’ll be working together for at least a while after all and since everyone thinks we’re together now…” he trails off. You think you detect a bit of an edge to his tone and as he gives a shrug you peer at him more closely. He shifts his position and looks away from you, lifting his head up in a horse like fashion as he does so. You think that on the whole he looks rather distracted. 

 

You’re just about to ask whether there’s something wrong with him when Tess announces, “Please welcome our hopefully jolly judges to the floor. Bruno Tonioli and Len Goodman. F/N L/N and Mycroft Holmes.”

 

Mycroft pulls you out by the hand with such force that you nearly crash into his shoulder. “Ouch,” you cry as he pinches at your skin. 

 

“My apologies,” Mycroft says quickly, inwardly cursing himself. Christ he can’t do this. What had he been thinking? He’s been single for so long with only a fish for company. He can’t do this! Still, seeing that you’re looking at him closely again he spins you away from him, before he helps push you around twice in quick succession beneath his arm by placing his other hand upon your waist. 

 

You’re so breathless and curious about everything that you forget about your colour changing dress until the audience lets out an, ‘Oooh,’ of appreciation. You come to a stop feeling rather dizzy and look down to see that your dress is now red and orange with black edging like smoke in flames. Mycroft steps back and claps and you find that something shifts inside you as you look at him and he offers you a tight smile. He gestures that you should lead the way to the judges desk. 

 

You take your seat and take a proper chance to marvel at how Bruno is dressed like an elf in red, green and white and Len is dressed like Father Christmas.

 

The show progresses much as you’d expected it to with the one-off celebrities doing dances to cute Christmas songs and your fellow judges and you scoring them using Christmas tree shaped paddles. Due to the fact that it’s a one-off special and to be generous Bruno, Len and you mark a little more leniently and even Mycroft, who still seems oddly distracted and quiet, marks a bit higher than he normally would. You look at him at one point and as you do so you wonder again what the cause for his odd mood is. Is it because he’s thinking how this is his last show? Or has his mind already moved on from that to what he’ll be doing next? You frown a bit at that thought and look away again. But during the last dance-you’ve missed the pointed look that Bruno’s just given Mycroft-Mycroft suddenly flips his notebook shut, lays his pen down on the desk and makes to get up. You look at him feeling confused about it all and completely distracted from the Cha-Cha-Cha that’s taking place in front of you in a snowy winter wonderland setting of cuddly penguins and candy-canes. 

 

Mycroft half-glances at you and then he pulls a bit of a face, before he leans forwards and hisses, “Something’s come up. My brother just called me from the side. I have to go.” Your heart sinks at his words, but you nod bravely and try and not let your real feelings show as he looks at you again, before he departs. 

 

Len and Bruno seem to be focused on the dance, but as it draws to an end you feel like you have to inform them of the situation, so you discreetly lean towards Len, who tilts his ear down to you, and whisper, “There was an emergency and Mycroft had to go.”

 

Len nods at that and passes the message onto Bruno who says, “Ah, an emergency,” in a voice that sounds oddly mysterious. Neither of them looks concerned though and you feel a spark of irritation well up inside you. You know that they have a bit of an up and down relationship with Mycroft and know too that they’re probably trying to maintain a professional appearance for the purposes of the recording, but do they really have no care for him at all? Mycroft’s stabbed you straight in the heart and you still feel like you want to help him if you can. He has been making a bit more of an effort with you now after all. Making up your mind about it all you start to slide out of your seat. You’re going to follow after Mycroft and find out what’s wrong with him. But you look back when you feel a sudden weight upon your arm. 

 

Len’s clutching onto it. “Stay here,” he growls, “It’ll look odd if the two of you have gone.” 

 

You don’t much care about odd, not any more, but as Tess and the cameras all turn to you, you allow yourself to slip back into your seat with nothing more than a grumble leaving your lips.

 

“Oh? We seem to have a bit of a change on our judging panel. Mycroft seems to have disappeared,” Tess says, putting her fingertips to her lips and looking around as if Mycroft might suddenly appear again.

 

“There was an emergency,” you begin falteringly, not sure what to say in front of the public. 

 

“Yes,” Bruno carries on smoothly, “You see we realized that due to unforeseen circumstances, Len-I mean Santa,” the audience laughs, “Won’t be able to pay all the other elves and I, for all our hard work in the workshop this year. All those dreadful cuts you know.” Tess waves a quick hand to dismiss Bruno’s political commentary. Thank God this is not live and that bit can be cut out she thinks. “Anyway,” Bruno goes on, not realizing that he might have just said something inappropriate, “Mycroft’s gone off to make some mince pies to try and stabilize things again.”

 

“A noble cause,” Tess says with a bit of a nod and you frown at that because something does not feel right about this situation at all. You feel like the fate of the world is at stake and you’re the only one that realizes it. Before you can think about it any more however Tess asks you for your opinion on the dance that had just been and you’re forced to put the work first. You end up giving a bit of a mixed and muddled comment that doesn’t make much sense. Len goes next and then Bruno, before Tess decides that Mycroft’s scores for all the dances tonight will not be counted to make it fair since he couldn't score the last couple. She calls it a ‘Christmas miracle,’ but once more you don’t feel satisfied. As Tess goes on to show the changes to the leader board your face becomes strained. Mycroft might as well have not done this show at all and you don’t like that. It’s his last and he puts so much effort in, in the way that he scrutinizes all the couples. It’s not fair.

 

Still the show goes on regardless and the winners have no sooner been announced when the lights in the studio go on and off quickly, before a spotlight trails across the floor. You start and wonder what on earth’s going on. Some of the audience look about too and start up a muttering. Your body relaxes a little when some of the professional dancers-smartly dressed in traditional ballroom clothes with the men in black and white tails and the women in sparkly red dresses-begin to dance to a Christmas song. Perhaps nothing odd is going on in the studio after all you think. The lights just seem to have been done in that way for added drama and you find yourself wondering about Mycroft again and what had been the cause for his sudden departure. You hope that it’s nothing to do with his parents and that they’re well, though the most likely explanation for him leaving you know is that they’re not and such a thing makes you feel unsettled. But then the music changes and the background becomes a black and white scene of London in the snow with the only bit of colour in it being a red double-decker that is close to the Houses of Parliament. You frown, your brain working slowly and it takes you a moment to realize that you recognize this scene and the dance and the choreography. In fact you recognize it all. It’s the dance from the dream sequence in, _‘I Know It’s Not Me.’_ It becomes a medley of a number of different dances that you’ve helped create over the years. You gasp a little, before you quickly cover your mouth with your hands when your microphone crackles. You hear Len release a chuckle and you look at him to see that he’s smiling at you. Bruno is leaning forwards and looking at you around Len with a smile that somehow manages to be both wicked, but gentle upon his face. 

 

 _“What?”-_ you mutter in between your fingers, wondering what on earth’s going on, but they direct your attention back to the floor once more just as a rattling sound comes.

 

You see that two of the male professional dancers-Anton and Brendan-are steering a trolley that has a gigantic green and white wrapped present on it with a large red bow. The present is taller than you and must be six feet tall. On the wrapping paper are circular images of an old-fashioned sitting room with a comfy red armchair, a warm fireplace and the edge of a Christmas tree, framed in an elaborate gold. The dancers stop and hold their positions, facing the front with fixed smiles upon their faces. The orchestra keeps a steady thrum of music going, but is it just your imagination or does it sound really tense and apprehensive as if a shark is about to jump out of the water or something big is about to happen? Everyone seems to be holding their breath or that could just be you, but you’re pretty sure that a lot of the audience are looking at you as if they expect you to know what’s going on and to guide them when you have no idea of it yourself. Finally, Anton and Brendan stop with the trolley just in front of you. You stare at the present for a moment, which looks even bigger this close up, before your eyes dart to them. Anton nods at the red bow and Brendan gestures at it. Both of them have smiles upon their faces as if they’re trying to be calm, but are secretly excited. Getting their meaning you lean forwards, half-get out of your seat and reach forwards. You've just managed to give the bow the gentlest of plucks in between your fingers when all of a sudden there’s movement beneath the paper. You let out a screech in terror and fall back into your seat when Mycroft pushes his way out of it. His hair is now normal, the eye shadow scrubbed off and he’s in an expensive black suit with elaborate swirls all over it, a white shirt and a black tie. He looks for a moment as if he might laugh at how much he’s managed to scare you, but then his face transforms to wear an incredibly gentle and more than that pleading expression.

 

“I-I”- your fingers claw towards your mouth. 

 

Brendan and Anton give you a sweeping bow and move the trolley back and out of the way, before they freeze their positions. The camera, which Sherlock is operating with slightly trembling fingers, zooms in on Mycroft and you. 

 

“I’ve changed my mind,” Mycroft says, stepping close to the desk and drawing your hand down, holding it with his to the desk. 

 

“Y-You”- 

 

“I don’t want to leave the show early. In fact I don’t want this show to end. Not only because it’s my last, but because it’s your one and I think that we all know that you’ve made more of an impact on it than me.” You let out a breath at that. He tucks his hand underneath yours and lifts you up into a standing position. He lets go of your hand and you stand there shaking and feeling close to tears. You cover your mouth with your hands. “I wanted to celebrate you. We missed out on the opportunity to do so in the final, but this show’s been lucky to have had you and everyone should remember that. _I_ was lucky to have had you for a while,” Mycroft says, looking serious now and you let out a little gurgle as your eyes hone in on him. The audience let out an ‘Ah.’ He says all of his next words slowly, _deliberately._ “Did you know how quickly you impacted me? You were like a meteor that crashed into me with all your fire and rage. I was so dazed by you. Did you know that I spent pretty much the whole of one night just watching all the films you’d worked on back-to-back, whilst Goldfish 123 thought me mad just so that I could try and understand you better?” You let out a bit of a giggle without being able to help it. “Did you know that it was I who designed your dress for tonight?” Your eyes widen at that and you lower your hands from your mouth. “To show that I accept your individuality? To show you that I love you for that”-a sharp breath escapes your lips-“And that all I want to do is, if you’ll let me, walk alongside you for the rest of the time that we have on this earth, trail in the fiery shadow that you leave on everyone and to say that I am sorry. Sorry for making you feel like you did not matter to me when in reality that could not be any further from the truth. Sorry for all the ways that you know I have hurt you. But I hope that you can see that I’ve been trying to make amends for that now and that I'm still trying. If what I am about to say does not work out then I hope that we can still be friends because I could not be properly happy in a life that did not have you in it. You have to know that.” He pauses for a moment’s breath. “Earlier you confessed that you’d miss me, but you don’t have to.” He goes down on one knee and you let out a sharp squeak, before your hands go up to your mouth again. He smiles and draws a black velvet box from inside his jacket pocket. He flips it open. Inside is the most gorgeous and elegant, black, white and gold engagement ring. “F/N L/N will you marry me?”

 

Gasps go around the room and there’s an intake of breath. The camera wobbles ever so slightly in Sherlock’s control. 

 

You say your answer against your hands, but no one hears you. Mycroft stands up, his eyes fixed on you, willing you, _pleading_ you to say yes because if you don’t then he has no clue of how he’s going to move forward from this point. Finally, getting what the problem is and realizing that no one’s heard you, you free your mouth from your hands and say, _“Yes!”_ For what other answer can there be? You know what you want now. You feel it in your heart. You've done so ever since he started speaking. 

 

Mycroft’s face transforms into shock. Clearly he hadn’t dared hope that you’d say ‘yes.’ You tug him forwards by his tie and crush his lips against yours just as purple and silver confetti rains down upon you all from the rafters. 

 

* 

 

“Will Midnight be all right so that you can come to mine tonight?” Mycroft asks once Tess has finished the show by crying, “Our first Strictly wedding I can’t believe it,” Bruno has congratulated you and seconded Len’s words when the head judge had said that he’d pickle his walnuts if Mycroft didn't look after you now, the audience have filed out in a state of giddy anticipation and you’re sitting in your dressing room as Mycroft stands behind you. 

 

“Oh I think so,” you smile, still staring down at the ring on your left hand, which is splayed across the dressing room table in shock. Your grin grows as you say, “I’d like to see Goldfish 123 again.” Mycroft’s face falters and he averts his eyes, looking genuinely awkward for the first time since you’d re-united. “Mycroft?” Your brow furrows in concern and you get up and go across to him, placing a hand upon his shoulder. You peer up at him. 

 

He lets out a bit of a breath and looks at you, before he confesses heavily, “Goldfish 123 passed away a few weeks ago my dear. When we were in Blackpool in fact.”

 

“Oh Mycroft I am sorry.” You wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him close. 

 

“I wanted to tell you it’s just”-

 

“I know,” you say with a bit of a sigh, cupping the back of his head to your shoulder. He holds onto you for one moment, before you pull away from each other again. “You got another one?” He nods. You stroke at his cheek. “Come. Let’s go say bye to everyone and then we can go,” you tell him. 

 

*

 

“Is that Goldfish 124 I see?” you try to make the atmosphere light when Mycroft switches the light on in his penthouse and your eyes go across to the circular tank. 

 

“Actually,” Mycroft says as you both go across to it, “This one has a name.”

 

You draw back from admiring the pretty fish and look at him curiously. “I thought you said”- you say, before you break off when Mycroft turns you towards him and takes your hands gently in his. His thumb caresses over your new ring for a moment. 

 

“This is a trifle embarrassing. _Actually,”_ he says, letting go of one of your hands and raking one of his through his hair. He rejoins his hand with yours in the next moment. “It’s a bit more than that now that we’re back together again.” You look at him patiently. “I named her after you,” Mycroft confesses. 

 

 _“Me?”_ you ask him with a breathless kind of wonder about your face. 

 

Mycroft nods. He shifts about. “I missed you,” he admits, “I wasn’t lying earlier. I wouldn't be able to be fully happy without you in my life. What I did and said was terrible. I should have gone against Moriarty far earlier. The truth is that I let him bully me and bully us. I really am”-

 

“I know,” you break him off with a kiss. 

 

Mycroft kisses you back and you make several soft sounds against one another. You run your hand over the hairs on the nape of his neck and let your fingers get tangled there. He supports your waist, before you pull away from each other again.

 

 _“Mycroft,”_ you breathe and that is enough to send a shiver of desire down Mycroft’s spine and for his lips to press at your neck a couple of times experimentally.

 

As your breaths get a little jagged and you cling onto his shoulders to stop your knees from giving way he asks, “Bedroom?” 

 

“Mm,” is all that you get out and he sweeps you up into his arms, carries you across and closes the door behind him with his foot.

 

*

 

The news of Mycroft’s and your engagement manages to stay a secret until Christmas Day when the Strictly special episode airs. The trailer had hinted that something big had occurred in it and is enough to draw more viewers in than the usual. Once more, and for one last time, Moriarty is using both Mycroft and you for his personal gain. Only this time you don’t very much care. Not when you’re watching one of the happiest moments of your life unfold again, and watching it at home with your mother, you feel teary when you re-watch the professionals doing your choreography. When Mycroft proposes to you your mother lets out a gasp and puts her hands to her mouth. Her eyes dart to your fingers and you smile. You’d taken the ring off, before she came and stowed it safely in your pocket so as not to give the game away. When you accept she screams and grasps at you. With a guilty expression upon your face you slide the ring back out of your pocket and replace it upon your finger. She draws your hand close, so that she can inspect it, before she hugs you fervently. 

 

“I don’t know how you managed to keep that from me,” she laughs in a watery fashion. 

 

“Sorry I wanted to see your face,” you tell her, pulling a clean handkerchief out of your other pocket and handing it to her, before you hug her again. 

 

*

 

Half-an-hour later and just like Mycroft and you had planned there comes a knock on the door. You open it to find your fiancé and his own parents standing there. Violet hugs you enthusiastically, Edwin grasps at your shoulder with a smile, Mycroft pecks at your cheek and you lead them all through to the living room with joy in your heart. 

 

“Oh, what a wonderful surprise,” your mother says, getting up at once, whilst the TV-now showing the _‘Doctor Who’_ Christmas special-continues to play in the background. Violet and your mother hug one another and then your mother hugs Edwin, before Mycroft and she share a very awkward embrace. 

 

“I apologize for not adhering to tradition and asking for your permission M/N,” Mycroft says as he pulls back from her. 

 

“Well,” your mother says, still looking a little teary, “You did say that you were going to do something big.” She waves her hands. 

 

“You”- you look between them. 

 

“I’d been planning what happened in the Christmas episode for some time,” Mycroft looks at you a little guiltily, “Ever since your mother came to watch the show in fact.”

 

You feel a rush of affection for them both now and you one-handedly hug your mother and kiss her on the cheek, before you fling your arms around your fiancé and kiss him firmly on the lips. “Thank you,” you breathe, pulling back from him, taking his hand and leading him to the settee where you sit beside one another.

 

“Oh look at them,” Violet cries, “How lovely this all is! To think that we’re going to be family too!” Edwin smiles a little awkwardly at his wife’s open enthusiasm, not sure what to make of it. 

 

“I’ve put the penthouse on the market,” Mycroft announces, brushing a strand of hair back from your forehead as you sit leaning into him with your legs crossed. “I'm sure it will have a buyer soon, then”- 

 

“You can move in here,” you finish happily, “And Midnight and F/N the fish,” you smile in a silly, happy fashion at just saying that because you’d called F/N the fish ‘Goldfish 124’ in public once to spare his softer side and he’d-albeit with a bit of a blush on his face-corrected you and called her by her actual name-“Can be best friends.”

 

Mycroft looks as if he doesn’t quite know about how F/N the fish’s relationship with Midnight is going to work out, but a moment later he says softly, “Just like us.”

 

You automatically feel pleased at that. “Mmmhmm,” you snuggle closer to him and he wraps an arm around you, whilst you duck your head underneath his chin. 

 

*

 

Just like you had when it was first announced that you were going to be a judge on _‘Strictly Come Dancing,’_ you have what feels like a million e-mails, texts, calls and tweets from complete strangers too congratulating you on your engagement and of course Kitty Riley writes an article trying to pinpoint the exact timeline of your relationship with Mycroft. She also writes another article further down the line speculating about what the exact cost of your wedding will be and makes you look far more extravagant and demanding than you actually are. 

 

But Mycroft and you keep a very private relationship and though, not scared or having to hide any more, you make the odd public appearance together, walking around and attending each other’s film and theatre opening nights the both of you refuse to answer any questions about your relationship in depth and remain fiercely protective of it. 

 

So much so that you even manage to confuse the press into thinking that you’re putting off getting married for a while when really you end up getting married that following June in a private country house surrounded by close family and friends. Mycroft ends up having two Best Men in the form of Bruno Tonioli and Sherlock, whilst Len walks you down the aisle-your father and his new family hadn’t been invited. Violet and your mother cry and clutch onto each other all throughout the proceedings. You’d enlisted Mary and Irene-you feel considerably less harsh towards her now that you’re not on the show and have experienced how hard it is for yourself to escape Moriarty’s grasp-to help make your wedding dress-a beautiful ivory gown. Sally does your make-up, Tess and Claudia attend in big hats and a beaming Mike Stamford does the photography. It really could not be any better. Even the top of the cake has managed to become personal for you with a figurine of Mycroft and you clutching at each other’s hands as you stand half-turned into one another, whilst a delicate figurine of Midnight and a fish in a bowl lay at your feet. Flames and a diamond to represent ice have been etched into the side of the cake in icing. It tastes delicious too, the fruit and butter melting inside your mouth. Everyone seems to enjoy the day.

 

No photos of your wedding are going to be sold to magazines and there will be no exclusive interviews, but, in the quiet of the room you’ll be spending your first night as a married couple in, in the grand house that you’d got married with its plush furniture and four-poster bed, Mycroft and you lay your simple and understated gold wedding rings side by side on the old, wooden desk, take a photo of them and post it along with the words: _That’s our final comment,_ as if to finalize such a thing on your Twitter page. That done you switch all technology off, both undress to your underwear and draw the hangings around the bed, so that the world can be shut out at last.


End file.
